Heroics for Dummies
by Teriana
Summary: America's Guide to Becoming a Hero - Hero Rule no. 1: When in need of a situation pertaining to a damsel in distress and none is available, simply create one yourself.
1. Hero Rule 1

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine.

**A/N:** First Hetalia piece I've written, and by God, it's been scary finishing it. The plot bunny first came to me when I was wasting my time away watching Youtube videos (yes, look at the lack of my social life), and I happened to stumble upon a really cute Alfred/Arthur video. It's called "World is mine - Hetalia (Eng Subs)". If you haven't watched it yet, GO NOW AND SEE. It is the legit cutest America/England video I have ever, EVER seen. Anyway, I really hope that you readers out there enjoy my story. _Heroics for Dummies _is not a oneshot, although I prolly will update during the most random times. Hopefully this idea's not already too cliché already. I dunno... It just seems like it'd be a pretty common topic for an America/England fanfic.

**Pairings:** Yes, the main pairing here is America/England, but there will be cameos of a few other couplings. (Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, France/Canada and all that jazz)

**Summary:** America, bored with the lack of awesome things going on in his life, enlists in the help of his new guidebook to becoming a hero. Along the way, England is semi-reluctantly dragged into playing as his damsel in distress. Poor, poor England.

"Bla bla bla" : Dialogue

_Bla bla bla _: Thoughts, emphasis, flashbacks and hero rules (always at the top of the page)

**Heroics for Dummies**

-- Written by Shoop da Boop --

_Hero Rule no. 1: When in need of a situation pertaining to a damsel in distress and none is available, simply create one yourself._

---

If there was anything America ever took seriously, it was his hero business. Because, according to the bespectacled nation himself, hero business was _always_ serious business.

May woe betide any nation who dared to say anything otherwise.

What most people didn't know however, was that America had a guidebook to help him through his famed hero business. He treated the book like one would a bible, and it never strayed from the inner recesses of his bomber jacket.

Of course, since America was so decidedly awesome, he had never needed to refer to it for instructions – it was mostly a last-resort kind of thing. But lately, hero business wasn't doing so well. There just weren't any cute girls needing his help for anything anymore, and the lack of activity was starting to get pretty darn frustrating. Plus, it was a generally known fact worldwide that America simply wasn't one for staying still.

Which was why, America admitted somewhat grudgingly, it was finally time to concede defeat and look into his handbook for some advice.

After all, desperate times did call for desperate measures.

Just as America reached into the infinite depths of his beloved bomber jacket, he had a sudden revelation. He didn't even _know_ the title of the book, having randomly picked it out during one of his impulse trips to the mall. An uncharacteristic frown adorning his handsome features, the blond nation fiddled around his jacket in vain hopes of locating his guidebook.

After unearthing about twelve or so hamburgers (all of which America devoured happily in a span of two seconds each), he finally managed to find something small and flat. Enthusiastically, he pulled out…

His handy-dandy notebook!

The ash-blond let out a soft sound of delight and relished in his moment of absolute, unadulterated glory. Then, he peered down onto the title of the little book, which was written in large block letters.

_Heroics for Dummies_, it read. _10 Quick and Easy Steps to Becoming a Hero!_

Instantly, the grin on America's face widened tenfold. Practically radiating waves of excitement, the American examined the book's cover thoroughly. It was only then that he discovered how pathetically thin the book was. When a quick look through the manual revealed only eleven pages, America pouted in disappointment.

'_The index and a sentence or two per page_,' he deduced sullenly.

Oh well, it was all the help he could possibly get at the moment, and he supposed it would have to suffice.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he turned to the second page of the book, eyes squinting a little at the tiny instructions written upon it.

_Hero Rule no. 1: When in need of a situation pertaining to a damsel in distress and none is available, simply create one yourself._

It was vague and almost entirely unhelpful, but it did strike up a certain point.

So now all America needed was someone to help act as the damsel in distress, even if it was just for a while. His mind immediately conjured up a number of possible candidates for the prestigious (or according to America, at any rate) position. Canada was the first to flit across his mind. After all, they were pretty close, and to top it all off, his mild-mannered nature would surely be one befitting of a true damsel in distress! But that was where America's train of thought halted. Canada was his brother, for goodness sakes, and the similarity in their appearances was somewhat of a turn-off.

'_It'd be a little weird rescuing someone who looks so much like me_,' America mused, scratching the bottom of his chin. He mulled about for any other possible options.

France…was definitely out of question. America would greatly prefer it if the distance between them was as far as possible, thank you very much. He decided that, while hero business was of extreme importance, his decency far outranked even that. Plus, it was considered a given that being within a fifty-mile radius of France did have the tendency to bring about an aura of perverted awkwardness. So France was a no-go, then.

Russia wasn't a likely candidate either. The only possible result of _that_ would be coercion and the distinct order of "becoming one with Russia", as the fair-haired man liked to put it. Besides, the taller country had an uncanny resemblance to a ghost, a trait America wasn't quite so fond of. After that last assessment, Russia quickly left the ranks of America's possible damsels in distress.

China then. He was small, petite and even had the long hair of a girl. Surely _he_ would be the perfect solution to this annoyance of a problem! But then again, it would probably come as a surprise to the Asian, seeing as the Western and Eastern views of a hero were pretty different. Culture shock was definitely _not_ one thing America was anticipating in his search for his damsel in distress. Without much further ado, China was swiftly crossed off the list too.

Which really only left…

"England…" the blond nation murmured absently.

And with that final thought in mind, America began his journey towards the small island nation.

_Now if only I can persuade him to try_…

---

England was the epitome of tranquility, the very picture of grace and serenity.

A porcelain teacup in hand, the Briton was quite content with simply lounging around on his plush armchair. The past few days had been an absolute _hell_ (with America and all those other idiots he dreaded to call his comrades shoving themselves in his face all the time), and he savored the silence which lay across his study like a pleasant, comfortable blanket.

Slowly, in a deliberate manner, he raised the cup to his lips and sipped the slightest bit of his delightful Earl Grey brew. Relishing in its strong, acidic flavor, he gently inclined the cup to drink more fully –

"EEENGLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDDDD!"

– And promptly choked on his tea.

At the very same moment, the culprit of England's current misery poked his blond head from behind heavy mahogany doors. Upon spotting the Englishman, America gravitated toward the desk in a matter of three seconds flat. Had England not been so preoccupied with his own problem, he might've found it within himself to be somewhat impressed with the American's speed. But as luck had it, the slighter blond was already having a decent amount of difficulty even getting air into his lungs.

As if only just noticing the bluish tint to England's face, America tilted his head curiously. "Are you alright, England? I don't think that shade of blue is what one would exactly call natural, you know." He frowned dubiously. "Or is this the result of one of your so-called magic tricks?"

In response, England flailed his arms with a little more vigor.

Turning his gaze towards the overturned teacup, America was quick to piece together enough clues to understand how to help the ailing man. He slammed his powerful fist down onto England's back. A string of coughs, sputters and curses soon followed.

Whirling his head round, the smaller nation fixed the very much unwanted intruder with a heated glare. America gulped – England looked positively _livid_.

"Bloody hell, America! What the blazes are you doing here?" He demanded angrily.

"About that…I've come to ask you for a little help."

Crossing his arms, England raised one of his bushy eyebrows in obvious disdain. "Really now?"

"Yeah, well…It's nothing big and I…you know…" America trailed off uncertainly, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort.

"No, I don't know," England snapped back irritably. "Care to enlighten me?"

"It's about my hero business." When the Briton gave America a blatant look of disapproval, he hastily rectified his statement. "It's not…that hot lately, is all."

Originally, America would have been quite happy to have simply left his explanation like so, but now that the dams have broken, the taller man was very intent on releasing his pent up frustrations.

"So now I'm really, _really_ bored, and I have absolutely _nothing_ to do!" He complained, wringing his hands in the air for an added dramatic effect. "And if this keeps up, I'm going to drive myself crazy!"

"God forbid," England agreed despite the knowledge that America could not, in fact, possibly get any crazier.

"Here, take a look at this." America brandished his guidebook for the Englishman to see. "This book clearly says that if no opportunity comes along, I just have to make one up myself!"

Rolling his eyes, England leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the book's title.

"For dummies?" He snorted. "How suitable."

America ignored the British man's snide remark and continued to elaborate on his master plan. "And that's where you come in, see? I need you to, uhh, play the part of the victim for a while. Get yourself in a little trouble so I can save you."

The damsel in distress, in other words, but America would be damned before ever admitting as much.

Previously sitting lax on his armchair, England stiffened. "I absolutely _refuse_ to act as the damsel in distress."

_Oh damn_.

"No! It's not like that! You get to be the…err…rescue-ee! Yeah, that's very, very different from being the damsel in distress."

"Assuming that I do fall into the role of the 'rescue-ee', as you ever so eloquently put it, what's in it for me then?"

"I…well…"

"I thought so," England sighed, resting his head upon the back of his right hand. "Now go along and disturb someone else with your childish fantasies. And next time you ever get the urge to consult me in the matters of your hero business…don't. I'm not interested."

"Aww, England…" America whined with an astonishing resemblance to a petulant kid. "Just help me out this once, yeah? C'mon, don't be such a bum."

"I highly doubt that declining your offer to partake in such ridiculous antics would constitute me as a bum."

America blinked. "…Was that England-ese for 'Sure, I would love to?'"

Scoffing, England shot the other nation a condescending smirk. "Actually, that was _English_ for 'Hell no'. And don't look at me like that; I wasn't the one who completely _massacred_ the English language. In any case, you probably wouldn't recognize proper English even if it came up to you and slapped you in the face."

"Englaaand…" At this point, America decided that he couldn't care less whether or not he was begging. "Please help me out just this once?"

England visibly flinched. Oh God, America was using his ultimate weapon. Inwardly, England cursed the living hell out of the other country.

'_How dare he_?' The shorter nation fumed. '_All these years and he still… Regardless, it shouldn't have any effect on me now, right? He's already used it so many times in the past…_'

But even as England continued to look on, he felt his resolve slowly crumble into dust. After all these years, he couldn't believe he was still so affected by such a show of utter…

Adorableness seemed to be the only word suitable enough.

"I-I…can't…" Dear Lord, could those eyes possibly grow any wider? "And…and…" A closer inspection led England to discover slight moisture brimming in the corners of America's large blue orbs. "I mean…I…" The younger man's lip quivered slightly, and England instantly knew that he'd lost.

"I…Oh, alright," He finally relented, all fight draining out of his body. "I'll do it."

The result was instantaneous. Whooping triumphantly, America jumped away from the study desk and then went on to do a strange little victory dance.

England sighed as he gingerly rubbed his temples and silently willed the America-induced migraine away. Try as he might, he knew that he could never deny the younger man anything, be it some kind of food or favor. Hell, he'd even let the damn Yank gain his _independence_. In fact, pretty much everything that England could offer had already been given. Refusing America would be synonymous to kicking an injured puppy in the face. Multiple times. With spiked boots.

The honey-blond man paled a little at his own imagery.

Shifting uneasily in his chair, England decided to just grab the bull by its horns. "So, what silly ploy are you going to make me do?"

When the question seemed to catch America completely off guard, England looked incredulously at the taller nation. "You don't have any ideas yet, do you?"

America's blank expression merely confirmed it.

"Oh, for the love of-" Groaning, England buried his face in his hands.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" The boisterous blond defended vehemently. "How was I supposed to know you were going to agree in the first place?"

An eyebrow disappeared underneath England's hairline as he gazed skeptically at the younger man.

"You never thought very much about this in advance, I assume."

"…I guess I didn't."

Scratching his head, America fell into a train of deep thought. "Well, we can always just have you get stuck on a tree. And then, right when you're about to fall…_Whoosh_! America the Super-Dee-Duper Awesome and Totally Amazing Hero comes to rescue you!"

Apparently pleased with such a scenario, America nodded confidently to himself while simultaneously striking his trademark hero pose. England, on the other hand, seemed nowhere near as thrilled.

"I'm not some kind of kitten you can place on a tree on your whim and will just so you can rescue me."

"Huh? Oh, fine. How 'bout I rescue you from falling off a balcony instead?"

"America…" England's voice sounded exasperated and strained.

"Okay, okay!" The ash-blond looked into the carpeted floors in frustration, wracking his brain for better ideas. Suddenly, inspiration struck him.

"I know!" America exclaimed jubilantly. "We can burn down this house, and I can come save you just before you die a painful and agonizing death! It'll be like in all those awesome movies I've watched when I was younger!"

England felt the inexplicable urge to bash the ignorant nation's head into a hard brick wall (preferably one reinforced with heavy-duty titanium in case normal brick wasn't strong enough to withstand America's thick-headedness). Maybe if fate smiled upon him that day, America might get a shock great enough to result in actual _functioning_ brain cells. Then again, the presence of said brain cells probably depended on America having a proper brain to begin with, which, as far as England was concerned, was practically nonexistent.

"You bloody well know we can't do that!"

"Shoot down a man's hopes and dreams, will you?" The older country's snarky attitude was starting to grate on America's nerves, and he found that keeping his temper in check was proving to be much more of a challenge than he originally thought it would.

Scowling, the Briton merely fidgeted in his seat. "As the person requesting for my help, I should hardly think that you're in any position whatsoever to be complaining. If anything, it should be _you_ playing as the rescue-ee. I am older than you are, after all."

"But you're shorter than me. And a whole lot skinnier too. Geez, England, _everyone _knows that the hero can't _ever_ be smaller than the rescue-ee! Plus, you said you didn't care about my hero business."

"Point taken," England admitted reluctantly.

"We _can_ always just do something simpler," America offered, although the tone of his voice betrayed how put-off he felt by the older country's lack of enthusiasm. "Like in the movies, the hero picks up the dams- err, I mean, rescue-ee's handkerchief when it's dropped. We can just do that if you want."

While it certainly was very simple, it was also very…womanly. And England definitely did _not_ do womanly.

"Let's go for something a little less feminine," the Briton suggested.

For a moment, a small thought flickered briefly in depths of his mind. Just a few days ago, he had purchased a magnificent antique grandfather clock which dated back far into the late fifteenth century. He had originally planned to place it in the left corner of his room, but the movers – those blundering fools! – had conveniently set it right against the entrance to his study.

Really, it wouldn't have bothered England so much if his favorite mat had not been underneath the clock. It may sound silly, but that worn piece of fabric was of great sentimental value to the Englishman.

_America and I made it together, after all, back in the colonial days when I used to give him embroidery lessons_.

While the mat turned out awfully ridiculous (America's earnest attempts of sewing a bunny botched up and left a vague boar-like blob instead), merely the sight of it would always bring a smile to the older man's face. Unfortunately, the grandfather clock had effectively blocked out any possible view of the mat. And try as he might to deny it, England always felt a pang of loss whenever he looked in the direction of mat, only to see the lumbering grandfather clock instead.

He had tried a few times before to move the clock elsewhere, but his efforts often proved futile. But America had superhuman strength, did he not? Perhaps he could…

"Actually, I do have a favor to ask of you," England muttered. The formerly dejected American perked up straight away.

"Yeah? Well, ask away!"

"It's nothing too important, really," the older blond mumbled hesitantly. "But it would certainly be very nice if…"

"Of course I'll do it!" America smiled brilliantly and flashed him a thumbs-up sign. To his abject horror, England felt his face heat up. "Just leave it to me! So, what _do_ you want me to do, anyway?"

"See that mat?" England tilted his head slightly to the article in question, and America nodded when he caught sight of the light blue fabric as well. "I need you to help me move the clock so that I can retrieve it. It shouldn't prove too much of an effort to you, given the fact that you seem to be unnaturally strong."

America winked at the older nation and grinned disarmingly. "Anything for you, Iggy."

Again, England was dismayed when he found himself flushing a deeper shade of pink. "Hurry up and get on to it, you twat."

Chuckling, the taller man strode over and knelt down beside the large timepiece. England obediently followed along, eventually stopping right in front of the clock so that he could stand next to America. Before his very eyes, England glimpsed a flash of some unknown emotion pass through the American's baby blues.

"Hey, I know this mat…" Unbeknownst to the younger country, a trace of nostalgic affection leaked through his voice. "Didn't we make this together back when I was real young?"

"…Yes," England replied, unable to prevent the small smile from appearing on his face. "It certainly has been a while since then."

A comfortable silence lapsed between the two men until America coughed into his fist, clearly a little nervous at the quietness.

England sighed. '_That brat always did know the perfect way to ruin a moment_.'

"Well? What are you waiting for? The next day? The next month? France to take an oath of celibacy?"

From his position off the floor, America grinned. "That last one's never going to happen, Iggy."

The corners of the petite nation's mouth twitched slightly. "One can always hope."

"Not in this case, I'm afraid. France is already too much of a lost cause."

England hummed absently in agreement before gesturing to the mat. "Come on then, we don't have all day."

Nodding his affirmative, the taller blond reached forward with his right hand to grasp at the mat's corner. With his other unoccupied hand, he tilted the clock to one side. Expertly, with a small tug, the American pulled the mat out. Behind him, America could hear the other man's sigh of relief. He smiled brightly and turned around, ready to present his trophy to his pseudo-damsel in distress.

Unfortunately, the moment his left hand was removed, the grandfather clock rocked precariously due to the lack of support. Barely a second later, the enormous timepiece pitched forward and toppled over.

…In England's direction. The British man was frozen to the spot, shock and fear paralyzing both his legs.

America's heart stopped painfully for a brief moment.

And the room was filled with a resounding crash.

---

The first thing England saw when he opened his eyes again was a bright blue color of the sky on a cloudless day.

..._So beautiful…Is this how heaven looks like_?

Underneath him, he could feel the ground digging painfully into his back. Breathing was difficult too due to some strange but not entirely unwelcome pressure against his chest.

He frowned. If this was heaven, he didn't want to remain there for long. It was definitely a little too claustrophobic for his liking.

Suddenly, the whole world around him snapped into focus. With a start, England realized that he had never been looking at the sky, but…

"…ngland, England?"

_Blue…the color of America's striking eyes_. _All this time I've been looking into America's eyes_.

At once, England's eyes widened dramatically. He hastily tried to shove the other man off him – Blimey, America was _heavy_! – but stopped short when his efforts proved to be completely fruitless.

_Wait a minute…if I'm under America, then that means…_

Oh no…

"A-America! Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?" A million emotions swirled in dazzling pools of emerald green, the most prominent one being that of concern. The larger nation strained not to get lost in their beauty, but golly were England's eyes absolutely stunning.

Blinking out his reverie, America shook his head and laughed lightly. It wasn't until then that England realized how precious the sound truly was, and the smaller nation unconsciously tugged his ex-colony closer towards him. He ducked his head and mumbled something incoherently.

America looked confusedly at the other man. "Come again?"

"…I said, 'get off', you idiot."

Again, America's bright laugh rang throughout the entire room. Grunting in slight exertion, the blond man hefted the large clock over and stood up, extending a hand to England as he did so. The slighter blond gave a hesitant smile before accepting America's offered assistance. With minimal effort, America helped his former mentor up onto his feet.

A brilliant smile erupted on the American's handsome face.

"That was so _awesome_! Did you see how _epic_ I was back then? I totally saved your butt, you know. Gosh, what a great hero I make!"

England rolled his eyes affectionately, but not even the younger man's constant babbling was enough to dampen his mood.

"Yes, America, and for that I am grateful," England spoke with utmost sincerity, a genuine smile gracing his sculpted features. America's face flushed attractively as he grinned back and shot the other man his signature thumbs-up sign.

"Ah, no prob, Iggy. Anything I can do to help, right? I mean, that _is_ what heroes do, after all. Save people and all that good stuff."

"Sod off, you bloody git," the older man snorted, but his words lacked his usual venom. If possible, America's smile widened to the point where it looked almost as if his face had split into two.

Then, America stroked his chin pensively, as if in deep thought. "Say…in all the movies, the rescue-ee always gives their hero a thank-you kiss. And seeing as how _awesome_ I was just now, I think that a reward is in order." He tapped his cheek suggestively as his eyes gazed unwaveringly at the flustered Briton.

"W-What? Surely you're not implying…"

"Oh, but I am. What're you going to do now, England? It's very ungentlemanly to leave people hanging, you know?" America's grin was impish, and his sapphire eyes twinkled in amusement and mischief.

Rolling his eyes again, the England leaned up against his former colony and placed a chaste kiss upon the other man's cheek, a tiny smile playing upon the older nation's face throughout the entire ordeal.

"Thank you…my hero."

And America proved right then and there that one _could _quite literally grin from ear to ear.

"Any day, Princess."

---

Phew... I'm DONE. So, did you like it? Hate it? Were the characters OOC?

I've already got one down...and nine to go. Boy, I see a lot of sleep-deprived nights ahead.

In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much romance _yet_. I decided to keep it that way so that their relationship will seem a little more believable. Don't worry, their relationship is somewhat slow-building, but it'll happen eventually.

And yes, _Heroics for Dummies_ is an established ten chapter fic. Each chapter will focus on another one of America's new hero rules, this one being the first out of ten. Please, please feel free to leave me any suggestions or ideas for future hero rules. I'd love to hear them out, especially since I don't exactly have ten hero rules thought up yet...

*Sheepish look*

Anyway, I really hope that you guys liked reading it as much as I did writing it. As sad as it sounds, Hetalia is like, my life right now, and writing this chapter was definitely a lot funner than I thought it'd be.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Hero Rule 2

**Disclaimer**: Must we really go over this again? No, I don't own Hetalia or any characters affiliated with it.

**A/N**: W-Wow... I had absolutely no idea that _Heroics for Dummies _would be so well-accepted. A big thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited or placed this fic in your story alerts. Especially to the people who left those wonderful, wonderful reviews. Oh, how I love them so. Honestly, I'd have maybe expected two or three, but _nineteen_?!I totally did a double-take when I saw the number. You guys are really too amazing for words! Anyways, I hope y'all like this chapter too...

P.S. This chapter takes place a month or two after the previous one.

**Pairings**: Mainly America/England, but there is mild France/Canada in this chapter as well. Other pairings should come in a couple of chapters.

**Summary**: England is no stranger to peril. He has, however, never faced a stalker!America before...Poor Iggy'll never know what hit him.

**Warnings**: Rated for England's potty mouth. I will also warn you in advance that the ending is pretty serious, a far cry from what I've written before (but I ended up liking it a little to much to simply just trash it). The characters may also be a little OOC because of this.

"Bla bla bla" : Dialogue

_Bla bla bla_: Thoughts, emphasis, flashbacks and hero rules (always at the top of the page)

**Heroics for Dummies**

-- Written by Shoop da Boop --

_Hero Rule no. 2: After the rescue of your established damsel in distress, proceed by preventing any further danger which may befall her._

---

England had always been a perceptive man with an innate ability to sense any creature, regardless of whether it was dead or alive, in plain sight or hidden from view, or real or imaginary (fairies and unicorns do not count; it wasn't his fault America was too dense to see them!).

Needless to say, it came to him as no surprise when he felt the beginnings of a massive headache as he looked across his yard and let his gaze rest upon a very poorly hidden America. Honestly, what was that man thinking? The little oak sapling was barely as wide as his palm, let alone large enough to cover up the American's entire muscular frame.

Sighing, the Briton tiredly rubbed his temples and directed a pointed glare towards the partially concealed brown lump.

"America, I know you're behind that tree."

Jumping out from behind the plant, America pointed an accusing finger at the Englishman. "Hey, no fair! There's no way you could've possibly seen me!" The ash-blond nation smiled smugly and jabbed a gloved thumb at himself. "I should know; I've been learning Japan's awesome ninja techniques for _weeks_ now!"

England's migraine worsened exponentially.

"Dare I inquire what you were doing here in the first place?"

America let out a cheerful laugh and held out his dreaded hero booklet. "Silly England! I'm here to protect you, of course!"

"Protect me? Whatever from?"

"_Anything_, Iggy! The world is a very dangerous place! Just yesterday, I almost got run over by a truck, I'll have you know. Stupid driver wasn't even looking at where he was going! I mean, he _obviously_ should've noticed that I was _very_ preoccupied with eating my hamburger. What a silly, silly man…"

Shaking his head in mock disappointment, America waggled his finger in the air and made little 'tsk-tsk' noises.

"…I see." Truthfully, England had long since given up on following America's train of thought and attempted instead to grip the remains of his slowly slipping sanity.

"Awesome! Then you should be happy that I'm here to keep an eye out for you! Oh, and now that you know that I'm here, you wouldn't mind moving my luggage to one of your guest rooms, right? Hmm…maybe I should've told you I was coming in advance, but what's the fun in that?"

And without much further ado, America strode into the British man's house, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake.

As he stood motionless on the front porch, England felt himself die a little inside.

---

"Now tell me why you're really here," the shorter blond demanded as soon as America's luggage had been dropped unceremoniously onto the plush carpet of his home.

The ash-blond nation's eyes widened as he tilted his head in a befuddled manner. "But England, I already did."

"…What kind of bloody idiot do you take me for?"

"No, seriously! I wasn't joking when I said I was here to protect you!" Upon looking at England's doubtful expression, America opened his guidebook to the third page. "Look here then, at the second rule of the book."

_Hero Rule no. 2: After the rescue of your established damsel in distress, proceed by preventing any further danger which may befall her._

After he finished reading the small print, England scowled at the other man. "I thought we were done with this ridiculous hero business of yours."

America grinned. "Nope, not even close."

"I suppose I should've seen it coming, especially coming from an incorrigible wanker like you."

"Insult me all you want. That doesn't change the fact that I'll still be watching over you," America chirped brightly, all intended barbs coming from England's harsh words bouncing harmlessly off his limitless ego.

Strangely enough, England did not feel as angered as he knew he was supposed to be. Somehow, the thought of America choosing to spend time with him, even if it was only to fulfill his insatiable heroic complex, was rather…well, nice.

"Fine then," he conceded. "But while you're here, I expect you to be on your best conduct. And that means no loud noises, no tomfoolery and _no horror movies_."

"Sure," the taller blond agreed readily. But even as he spoke, his eyes were already scanning England's DVD collection for a scary thriller. Barely five minutes later, England's speakers were blaring deafening rock music at full volume, and all of his neatly stacked paperwork lay scattered upon the floor – courtesy of America, of course. The very same night, he was awakened by a very disgruntled America begging to sleep with him because of some ghostly apparition or another.

It was during times that these that England didn't even know why he bothered.

---

Usually, the Briton was fairly tolerant of America's outrageous shenanigans, but constant exposure to such mischief was surely a harbinger of permanent brain damage (yes, England can vouch this through multiple experiences – how else do you think he gets all these migraines, anyway?). And although it was fine to a certain extent that they were currently living under the same roof, England had hoped that the American's ridiculous behavior would remain strictly confined to his house.

Apparently, he had hoped for too much because America had been a complete _horror _during the last two hours of the Allied conference. It seemed like _everywhere_ the Briton went, America would doggedly tag along. While this behavior had initially been at least somewhat bearable, England's mood began to steadily grow worse as the meeting dragged on. When it was finally over, the British man had instantly bolted from his seat, dashing off into the corridors in hopes of finally getting a little privacy. Alas, even without turning, he could practically sense the other man's breathing against the back of his neck. Fists clenched, England whirled around to face his ex-colony, vivid green eyes flashing with annoyance.

"How long must this go on, America?" He yelled furiously, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty hallways. "I've already humored you enough back at my house, and I am _not_ going to let you continue following me everywhere I go! We are at an Allies meeting, for god's sake. Would it _kill_ you to just act a little more mature for once?"

America returned the glare with equal fervor. "Sorry, England, but no can do. There's no way I'm going to just let you wander around when you can get hurt at any moment. I mean, what kind of hero would I be if I did?"

Exasperated, England flung his hands up in the air. "What? It's not like a piano's going to fall down on my head or anything!"

When America actually took a wary, cursory glance at the ceiling, England could not rein back his look of absolute disbelief.

Nonchalantly, the tall ash-blond merely shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, you never know."

"You're simply unbelievable!"

"Why thank you, Iggy."

"…That was not meant to be a compliment, you bloody fool."

"Well, that's too bad. I'm taking it as one."

Trying to reason with America was like walking in circles, England realized. He was just about to retort with another scathing remark, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted him. Deciding that it was probably to the best of his interests to prevent another potentially awkward situation, the Briton scowled and grabbed the scruff of America's bomber jacket.

Steely green met defiant blue. "We are talking about this _later_. For now, you'd best act normally, and not like some…uncouth stalker! Are we clear, America?"

The country in question effectively ended all conversation by pushing away his elder, bright sapphire eyes cold as ice. "_Crystal_, England."

As England watched the American walk sulkily away, he briefly entertained the notion of following the other simply to gripe a little more, but was stopped short by a sudden pang of guilt. The Englishman paused – one foot still hovering in the air – as he questioned the possible origins of this very rarely-felt emotion. It was really too unfortunate that he didn't have much time to ponder more over the matter because of an obnoxious hand waving over his face. Mood worsening by the double, he turned to the new intruder. When he saw who exactly it was, England established that this day had officially made it into his 'Worst-Five-Days-of-My-Fucking-Life' list.

"…France," he managed to grit out from tight lips, his teeth ground together in pure frustration.

"Bushy-brows," the Frenchman responded just as amicably.

"What the hell are you doing here, Frog?"

France absently waved a hand in the air, smirking as he did so. "Ah, nothing much. I was just passing by when I happened to hear you and _Amerique_ quarrelling in the hallway. And being ever the gentleman, I decided to stop your childish bickering before someone else becomes the unfortunate victim of your unnaturally loud voices."

This only served to anger the smaller blond further. "Fuck you, France! What do _you_ know about being a gentleman anyway?"

"More than you could ever know, you sorry excuse for a country," France sneered. "Plus, what exactly about chasing away another person with your rudeness can possibly count as _gentlemanly_, hmm?"

In a moment of brash impulsiveness which England blamed entirely on America's influence, the slighter man raised his fist and socked the other nation in the face. Ignoring France's wail of indignation, England twisted over and made his way towards his private jet.

Forget about France, the Allied meeting, or anything else, really. He had to vent his anger on something or _someone_ right here and now, preferably a bespectacled blond with an infuriating knack of creating trouble with his ever-present and infinite ego.

Growling in irritation, England wondered when his life suddenly revolved so entirely around America's.

_Dammit, America…Do you have any idea just how much you've been running through my mind lately_?

Too wrapped up in his negative thoughts, England had no time to consider about the hidden implications of his own statement. And so it remained that way, a mere subconscious feeling left buried in the depths of England's mind, forgotten and overlooked.

---

The first thing England did when he arrived home was to call America, a long, well-prepared speech thought out carefully in mind to lecture the younger nation with.

America had intercepted the call, inquired the identity of the caller, graced him with a 'screw you, England' and hung up promptly after. England spent the rest of his day pouting at his phone and muttering unintelligible curses about the other country. Silence reigned in both their homes, leaving two confused countries to reflect on the incidents which had occurred earlier.

They made up the very next day.

Barely a few hours after their reconciliation, America could be seen in front of England's porch clutching a duffel bag in his hand while the elder nation awaited him with the barest hints of a smile adorning his face.

And just like that, life was back to normal again.

---

Or at least, it was for the two English-speaking nations.

On the other hand, France was not quite as lucky.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Gentler, Canada!" The Frenchman pouted and sniffled pathetically. "That man…For someone so small, he sure packs quite a punch, _non_?"

Dipping a cloth into a basin full of icy water, Canada chuckled. Softly, he dabbed the cold fabric on the dark purple splotch blemishing France's otherwise perfect skin. Close up, the bruise looked grotesque, easily disfiguring half of the Frenchman's face.

Canada winced in sympathy.

Poor, poor France and his unsightly bruise. It was enormous, almost as large as Great Britain! Although it was no surprise there, really, considering it was England himself whom had delivered the devastating blow.

"What did you do this time, France?" The younger nation asked in exasperation. "You should really stop picking fights with England. He may be smaller than you, but you ought to know by now that he is anything but weak."

"He does have quite a vicious uppercut," France agreed, gingerly rubbing his swollen cheek. "But I wasn't the one picking fights this time." He paused thoughtfully and glanced at the redhead sitting beside him. "_Angleterre_ had already been quarreling with _L'Amerique_ before I came."

At this, Canada frowned. "Those two are always disagreeing over something or another. But it must've been pretty serious for England to actually become so violent." He caught France's look of amusement and flushed. "I-I mean, England is a bad-tempered country, but he wouldn't lose his restraint without any good reason. And to punch you in the face like that…I imagine he was feeling pretty upset back then."

"I suppose…"France trailed off, having lost his interest in the conversation some time ago. "Speaking of feeling upset, I too am feeling a little under the weather." He sent a suggestive wink in Canada's direction and was pleased when the smaller man flushed in response. "You are simply adorable, _mon petite_. Come up to my room later as a reward for all your kind efforts today."

France then pushed himself off the sofa and sauntered over to his chambers, leaving behind a blushing Canada. The redhead smiled as he collected the cloth and basin, but his good mood evaporated slightly when he recalled why he had taken them out in the first place.

America and England fighting was such a common occurrence now. Common, but still disturbing nonetheless. And for England to react so explosively…It was really quite a worrisome thought.

Sighing, Canada glanced out the windows of France's home. "Oh, Alfred…What on earth have you done now?"

---

Meanwhile, America watched, bemused, as England fussed over his beloved roses. That man was so interested in those flowers and all his imaginary friends that it almost bordered on obsession. Not that it was a bad thing, to be entirely honest. If anything, it was actually kind of…cute.

America's eyes widened. _Now where the hell did that thought come from_?

"Now if you're done standing there like some kind of brain-dead vegetable, you can come help me tend my garden, America." England hefted a large shovel over his shoulders and looked balefully at the taller blond. "And while you're at it, do me a favor and close your mouth before a mosquito flies in. It's extremely unattractive."

Exhaling heavily, America followed the grumbling Briton towards a fresh patch of soil, presumably where the English nation wanted to plant his new seedlings in. "I really don't understand why you'd possibly want to grow another bunch of roses, Iggy. There're only a million here already." He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he waved his hand over the endless sea of scarlet flowers. "Plus, it's not like they're all that great."

"I beg to differ," England snorted. "Roses are very pleasant flowers. Not that you'd know anything about appreciating pleasant things, really."

"I'd appreciate a good meal if I saw one!" The younger nation protested.

"Your definition of a good meal would most likely be those horrendous globs of saturated fat your country calls 'hamburgers'. Truthfully, I don't see how you've survived on eating such awful food for so long."

"…You're not really the one to talk about 'awful food', England."

The shorter country threw a bag of rose seeds at the other man's face. It hit him square in the forehead.

Pouting, America whined and rubbed his forehead. "Not cute, Iggy. How am I supposed to protect you if you're going to be so mean to me all the time?"

"I don't recollect ever asking you to come protect me again," the Briton stated plainly. "As a matter of fact, I thought I made it very clear the last time that I wanted to play no part in this silly heroic charade of yours."

"Tough. You're still a part of it, whether you like it or not." America frowned as if only realizing something for the first time. "Am I really so bad to be around? If I lay off a little, will you let me continue with my hero business?"

England blinked at the American's forlorn expression. Truthfully, he had no idea that America took his hero business so seriously since the entire idea (a guide to becoming a hero? Puh-lease…) seemed rather preposterous. But seeing as it was one of the few things America was truly passionate about, England decided to humor him a little more.

Not because he secretly liked having America's attention, of course. It was _only_ because he wanted to help out his former colony, and what kind of country would he be if he refused America's plea for assistance?

Yeah…That was _obviously_ the reason...

"Alright." The corners of the Briton's lips quirked into an almost-smile. "I'm going to give you a second chance, but you must promise not to be too overbearing."

America's responding grin was simply blinding. "_Awesome_! Thanks so much, Iggy! I'll do my best to save you from the evil clutches of all the…uh…_evil _things out there!"

The Englishman rolled his eyes and cast an affectionate look in the other nation's direction. "Get to work now, America. The roses aren't going to plant themse-"

But before England had a chance to finish his sentence, he was cut off by America's squawk of alarm.

"Watch out, England! A bee!"

That said, America used all of his strength to shove the smaller man sideways in a valiant attempt to defend him from the diabolical dual-colored insect, which in turn buzzed obliviously away from the two blonds. Now then, readers, recall, if you will, America's power.

No, it is not a force to be reckoned with.

And so it was to no one's surprise that England was sent hurtling a good seventeen feet away.

Headfirst into a nice, thorny bush of roses.

Vein throbbing, England felt his blood pressure shoot to dangerously high levels.

America and his stupid second chances be damned; he needed to cause someone major bodily harm _now_. His eyes glinted manically as he turned back to face the younger nation, hand reaching out for his abandoned shovel.

From that day onward, England's favorite shovel carried a permanent dent with a striking resemblance to America's face.

---

Each country had, in their possession, a tool of mass destruction specially designed to their tastes and strengths. Let it be known that these weapons were of no laughing matter – it was a generally accepted fact that whenever a nation felt the need to use their weapon, killing and obliteration would soon follow.

Of course, different people needed a diverse set of tools to fully satisfy them, and the way the countries worked was of no exception. America, for example, had his twin holsters (great for the quick-draw!), Japan had his katana and Hungary had her massive frying pan of gloom and doom.

In England's case, he was at his most dangerous when he came in contact with a spoon. To further strengthen his prowess, all he had to do was venture into the kitchen and cook up a little something. _That_ was potentially disastrous and would most effectively ensure an unbearable, excruciating death.

And the unfortunate victim of the day? Why, it was none other than poor America, who really had no idea what he'd signed himself up for when he agreed to come over to England's house that day to hang out. When lunch approached, he nearly felt his heart give out on him when he saw that England carried not one, but _two_ dishes with him.

Oh, the horror of it all!

Unaware of America's terrified expression, the Englishman set down one of his plates upon his dining table. With his other hand, he continued to cradle a large bowl containing a spoon and some unidentifiable liquid around the crook of his arm. He smiled innocently at the American.

"Well? Aren't you going to start eating?"

America chuckled nervously. "O-Oh, it's okay. I already have a hamburger." He whipped out a wrapped burger from his bomber jacket as evidence. "There's no need for me to eat all this now, right? 'C-Cos then the burger will go bad, and that will be so terrible!"

At this point, America was clutching the hamburger as if even a slight loosening in his grip would mean utter damnation – though in a situation like this, America wouldn't be too surprised if it did.

England released a long-suffering sigh. "Don't be childish, America. Belt up and just eat my scones, for goodness sakes."

"S-Scones? Those were scones?!" The American's eyes boggled out of his sockets. "I thought they were coal briquettes to barbeque our lunch with!"

"My scones do not look nor taste _that _appalling. You have no proof of this." It was really as if England had simply decided to ignore all those inevitable stomachaches other countries got whenever they sampled one of his dreadful concoctions.

This was not good. If England was not swayed, America would surely be forced to eat one of his scones and…

Whatever the outcome, it would surely be very, very gruesome.

America cringed in fear.

"Even a starved sewer rat living off the streets wouldn't eat them!" He yelled, vaguely recalling this one occasion where he had attempted to feed a famished rat – which had recently hopped out of a sewer pipe – with one of England's scones. The hungry animal had taken one sniff, then hobbled away and proceeded to chew on the corner of an abandoned boot left behind on the sidewalk by some inconsiderate hobo.

"…It's an acquired taste!" In his anger, England had taken the spoon out of his bowl and began waving it about. A glob of his greenish-colored cooking flew into the air and landed with a loud 'splat' onto a corner of his dining table. The corner of said dining table sizzled and melted away, emitting a pungent odor.

America saw his life flash before his very eyes. Funny how it looked more like a fast food commercial than anything else, really.

"W-Wait!" America hollered, desperate to stall the elder nation. "I just remembered something!"

The suddenness of America's shout made the other man stop in his tracks, and the American immediately pounced on this opportunity.

Clearing his throat, America declared, "I'm supposed to be a hero!"

Nonplussed, the smaller blond impatiently inquired, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's my duty to protect you from all kinds of danger!" America exclaimed as he reached over to grab the two dishes. "And trust me when I say that _nothing_ in your house is nearly half as dangerous as your cooking."

Before England could protest, the larger country dumped his beloved cooking over the windowsill. Any plant unlucky enough to be directly under the window wilted immediately upon contact with the corrosive liquid, and small craters appeared in the ground as a result of England's impossibly hard scones. This time, America was unable to hide his shudder of eminent relief.

_Man, that was a close call_…

"AMERICA!"

_Uh-oh_…

Sheepishly, the addressed country turned around to face his elder. "Yes, Iggy?"

"I…Wha…You…" Words failed the island nation, who until now hadn't realized how utterly _stupid_ America could be when he wanted to. "Ugh, never mind. I'm just going to make lunch for us once more." He gave the American a reproachful look. "And there better _not_ be a repeat of this…this idiocy, understood?"

After his tirade, the Briton turned and stormed back into the kitchen to make yet another serving of his monstrous cooking.

America hurried frantically after him. "B-But, England!"

Scowling, the slighter man picked up his pace, clearly resolute in overtaking America and finally cooking _something_, damn it!

"Go away, you bloody fool!" By now, England had already reached the kitchen and was presently looking around for the utensils he would require for his next entrée. One hand closed upon a sharp knife while the other groped blindly around to locate the whereabouts of his cutting board. A piece of raw steak was flourished from the fridge seconds later, and England's expression hardened as he prepared to slice up the meat.

In a final attempt to save his stomach, America lunged forward and tackled the smaller man. The force of the collision sent both countries crashing onto the cold and polished floor; all breath got knocked out of the honey-blond as the weight of the America smothered his slight figure. In that very moment, the knife flew out of England's hands, spinning rapidly in the air in a deadly arc before coming down once more.

America noticed this and instantly shifted his position so that he was straddling the man underneath him. Crouching down protectively over England, he raised his hand above his own head, which lay straight in the path of the knife's trajectory.

A slash and a powerful swing of America's arm, and the knife was sent skittering across the kitchen floor.

England blinked. His mind was still a puddle of goo and adamantly refused to function. All of a sudden, he felt a drop of moisture on his cheek. Slowly, the Briton looked upwards for the source of the liquid.

And he froze.

…Red.

All he saw was red. Dripping, dripping in a hypnotic rhythm from America's wrist, leaving behind trails of bright crimson. America's face, contorted with pain, orbs of sky blue hazed with unshed tears.

How the next few minutes passed England was not quite so sure; his brain was in such a constant state of frenzy and denial that all memory evaded him. It seemed that one moment he was trapped under America, and then in the next he had already grabbed his first-aid kit for a roll of fresh bandages.

Hands trembling, England gently tightened the bandages around America's wrist. Fortunately, a brief examination of the wound revealed that the knife had only scratched the surface of his skin, thereby avoiding any potential long-lasting damage. Still, any deeper in and…

England swallowed nervously, hoping that concentrating hard enough on his present task would distract him from such morbid thoughts. After a while, he shyly broke the uncomfortable silence between them.

"First the clock incident, and now this…" The Briton chewed on his bottom lip worriedly, keeping his eyes downcast as he applied more white gauze to the fresh wound. "You've really got to stop. Sooner or later, _you're_ going to end up in some kind of trouble that we can't fix, and I...I don't want that to happen."

England gulped almost audibly, raw anxiety radiating in waves off his small body. This accident…had hit a little too close to home, and America…He could've gotten seriously injured, broken beyond repair. And it was that thought which scared England beyond comprehension.

_He may be a self-proclaimed hero, and even I believe that to a certain degree. But heroes can still get hurt. Heroes can still…die…_

England was only too aware of this – the painful constricting of his chest and the uneven, panicked hammering of his heart served as reminders much too powerful to ignore.

The American remained quiet, seemingly contemplating England's words. Despite the lack of a response, England continued to voice out his concerns. "There's no need to keep an eye out for me, America…not if you're the one getting hurt instead."

"…No."

Eyes widening in shock, the island nation snapped his head up to face the taller man. But all protests died off in his throat immediately when he caught sight of America's somber expression.

"I do want to protect you," America said softly as his tone became uncharacteristically serious. Normally carefree baby blues now shone in a determined light, their intensity rendering England completely speechless. "And it's not just about the hero business anymore. Never was, actually. Don't you realize it, Arthur? I'll always be there to look after you, hero book or not."

Suddenly, the Briton's throat felt extremely tight because America, of all people, had just called him by his name. And not just his title, but his name…his actual name. It was…pleasant, to say in the least.

"I…Thank you, Alfred," he murmured, unknowingly reciprocating America's usage of their true names.

"Like I said before, it's no big deal. It's always a hero's duty to help those in need."

But England was not to be placated with those mere words. He was indebted to America – twice, in fact – and there had to be _some_ way to repay him. Right now, there was nothing he could possibly give to America that the other man didn't have already.

…But, he supposed, he could still offer something. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"America?" Curious at the Briton's subdued tone, America looked down into a pair of hesitant green eyes. "I don't have very much to reimburse you with, but I can at least promise you this…"

The British man took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"…I promise to follow through in your hero business, all ten steps of it. And I won't complain either. It's the least I can do to thank you for sacrificing yourself on my account…"

It was pathetic, and England acknowledged this. He wished he had more to bestow upon the younger nation, but it was very difficult knowing what he ought to give a person who already had…well…everything.

But apparently, his offer was all America needed to cheer up again. The fact that the ever-prideful England would swallow his dignity because he felt guilty over the American's injuries was oddly touching.

And America liked it more than he'd ever let on.

"You're the best, England!" The ash-blond cried out joyfully as he pulled the other man into a bone-crushing hug. He then paused before adding a thoughtful, "right after Supersized Double Cheeseburgers with extra ketchup, of course."

Sputtering, the Briton flushed an adorable shade of pink, and America was quick to make amendments to his mental assessment. He smiled and reached over to ruffle England's unruly strands of sandy hair.

_Screw Double Cheeseburgers and extra ketchup; England will always beat any ol' hamburger hands down_.

---

Yay! Another chapter done and over with!

I know, the ending was pretty abrupt and way more solemn than anything else I've ever written, but I kind of needed this to happen. First off, it shows that America's actually pretty serious about this 'protecting Iggy' deal. And it's always nice for England to be a little more open with his feelings once in a while. Also, to explain America's apparent OOC-ness...Hey, Alfred's only human (kind of...) - it's only to be expected that he can't always be positive and upbeat. This goes for England too. I understand that him getting worried is pretty uncharacteristic of him, but remember the original cause of his behavior. Under those circumstances, I think that it should be fine for him to show some concern over America's well-being.

I also apologize if the structures of both chapters are incredibly similar. Worry not, for the next one will surely be quite different. For starters, it'll definitely be a lot more light-hearted, and poor England will not require rescuing as often (or anymore, possibly).

Once again, thanks for reading! I really appreciate all the support you've given to me thus far!


	3. Hero Rule 3

**Disclaimer: **I wish, but sadly, no. Hetalia does not belong to me.

**A/N: **The third chapter is FINALLY here! Oh my gosh, sorry for such a long wait (especially to Tinkeroftime - a million apologies, honestly). All you readers don't deserve that, I'm sure, and I'm entirely at fault. It's just that I've been insanely stressed, what with school, travelling, writer's block and that whole lot. On the bright side, there's finally some US/UK _romance_ (a teenie bit, not outright, mind-blowing kissing, mind you) that's hopefully tangible enough to be actually considered as proper romance. Ah, and also, I'll bet you'll be glad to hear that I've already written parts of the next chapter, chapter five and the final chapter (WTF, am I the only person who does this?), so they should most likely come quicker than this one has. But anyway, once again I'd like to thank everyone who showed support, whether by reviewing, favoriting or putting my story on alert. Oh, and on the subject of reviews, I'd like to specifically thank Canadino for reminding me to enable anonymous reviews. Yes, that's right, ANONYMOUS REVIEWS. Ha ha, now I can hear what _everyone_ has to say about my not-awesome, high-school level writing. That aside, I really hope y'all enjoy this new chapter.

One more thing, I'm really, really, supremely sorry for not replying to any reviews. This is mainly because, until now, I didn't even realize you could actually _do _that (I know, how stupid of me! But in my defense, I _am_ a new writer, so I could've just not noticed! Ah, who'm I kidding...I'm just stupid, plain and simple). So, umm...sorry once again, I'm not trying to be rude or anything. I will try to reply...someday...if I find the time...

**Pairings: **America/England, mostly. But yes, all the other pairings are here at last! I should warn you that there are quite a few of them (about ten, I think). They should make themselves fairly obvious by the end of this chapter, but here's the list of them anyway: France/Canada, Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, Denmark/Norway, Russia/China, Hong Kong/Korea, Greece/Japan, Austria/Hungary, Sweden/Finland and Lithuania/Poland. It will do you well to remember them - they will all be making an appearance next chapter. *wink wink*

**Summary:** The United Nations is hosting an elaborate ballroom dance that all nations are required to attend. America takes this opportunity to spend a little, ah, bonding time with his favorite English country.

**Warnings: **Rated T for some language.

"Bla bla bla": Dialogue

_Bla bla bla_: Thoughts, emphasis, flashbacks and hero rules (always at the top of the page)

**Heroics for Dummies**

-- Written by Shoop da Boop --

_Hero Rule no. 3: Eliminate all other forms of competition; the damsel in distress is not meant to be shared with anyone else_.

---

Canada was very concerned for his brother.

And it wasn't the 'I-worry-about-you' kind of concern; it was actually more along the lines of the 'I-truly-question-the-state-of-your-mental-health' kind of concern.

Yeah, _that_ kind of concern.

"W-What did you say you did?" he stammered, almost afraid to hear his relative's answer. Unfortunately, America never really was one of the more insightful countries.

"Do I honestly have to repeat everything I just said, Canada?" America pouted childishly. "Were you not listening to my epic recounts of my awesome heroic feats of total greatness?"

"No, not _that_," the Canadian sighed, absently running his hand through red locks of hair. "It's just…did you really do all those things? To England? Seriously?"

"Well, yeah…Jeez, Mattie, it's not _that_ surprising."

That statement was only too painfully true, and Canada was fully aware of such. Dreaded memories of instances when _he_ was the unfortunate victim of America's heroic attempts surfaced, unbidden, on his mind. In hindsight, Canada supposed he should've really seen this coming since England was indeed one of America's closest friends. But after hearing his brother's narration, Canada was beginning to suspect that friendship may not be the only emotion being played between the two blond nations. What worried him the most, however, was that America was completely ignorant to this fact, entirely unaware of how his face would light up whenever he spoke of the English country, utterly oblivious to how fond he sounded whenever the subject of England was brought up…

In short, America was absolutely whipped – like a love-struck puppy – and he had no idea of this at all whatsoever.

At once, Canada knew immediately that he had to help his brother's love life, regardless of whether America approved of it or not. And from then on commenced Canada's Super Awesome Plan to Get America and England Together!

He winced inwardly. Perhaps he was spending a little _too_ much time with his North American counterpart.

"-And then I read this third rule…" Starting, the Canadian was shocked to discover that he had been ignoring his brother for such a long period of time. Guilt overwhelmed him, and he drooped his head in shame. He sincerely hoped he hadn't missed anything too important.

"Umm…It's a little too long-winded for my liking," America began, rubbing the back of his head. Canada sighed again; _any_ sentencewith more than four two-syllable words was considered too complicated by his brother's standards. "Here, why don't you see it for yourself?" The American handed the opened book to his redheaded relative.

_Hero Rule no. 3_: _Eliminate all other forms of competition; the damsel in distress is not meant to be shared with anyone else_.

Canada was quick to see an opening to his newly-found brilliant plan, and a sly grin crept up on his usually demure features. "Hey, America, you haven't, by any chance, heard about the upcoming ball, have you?"

Confusion became evident on the taller nation's face. "No, I haven't."

"Oh, well, it's a dance coming in a week's time which all nations are required to attend; that means that England has to go too."

Canada waited for a flash of understanding, comprehension or _anything_, at this point, to appear on America's face. Instead, his features remained as vacant as a bleached piece of paper.

"…Huh?"

The Canadian resisted the urge to slap his brother across the face in frustration.

"Don't you get it, America? England will have to go with _someone else_, and that's a violation of the third rule! You're going to have to _share_ England with another person, see?"

_Finally_, there was that spark of realization in America's clear blue eyes. Canada could just about hear the cogs whirring in his brother's head. They sounded terribly creaky and rusty from lack of use.

"But he can't do that!" America protested heatedly, orbs of sapphire blazing with resolve. "There's no way I'm gonna let that slide!" Stepping forward, he slapped Canada playfully on one shoulder, and the Canadian tried his best to suppress a shudder of pain. "Thanks for telling me, buddy! I'll never forget your awesome efforts in helping me and my hero business!"

And with the blink of an eye, America dashed off into the horizon with a speed Canada was sure broke the sound barrier.

The Canadian smiled softly as he watched his brother go.

_Good luck, Alfred. Lord knows you'll need it._

---

"…You're not serious, America."

"_Dead _serious, and you are going to listen to me." Had England not been there to witness the earnestness shining within those bright blue depths, he would've easily passed America's statement as some kind of awful joke.

"But why does it have to be me?" England asked in aggravation, large brows scrunching together in discontentment.

America frowned. "You promised last time, England. You can't back out now."

Realization dawned on the Briton's green eyes. "This relates to one of your hero rules." There was the slightest hint of a question in his speech, and America nodded in reply.

"I'm not supposed to share you with anyone else," he announced proudly, "so that means that you're not allowed to go to the dance. Easy as pie! Or burger. Yeah, I do like burgers much more. I bet they're far easier to digest too…"

England huffed in annoyance, shooting an incensed glare at the larger country. "Dammit, America! You can't make my decisions for me!"

Snapping out of his burger-trance, America waggled a finger in the Briton's face. "Actually, Iggy, as your appointed hero and savior, it is, in fact, my job to protect you from making stupid choices which I know you will surely regret in the future."

"_Self_-appointed," England corrected irritably. "And I'm by no means changing my mind. I _am_ going to the dance, whether you like it or not."

"I never knew you were so interested in dances," America piped up, confused as to why the other blond was so intent in attending the party. "You used to hate them before."

Sighing, England leaned back against his desk chair and tented his fingers elegantly on his lap. "Please don't get me mistaken – I still do. But, in the very likely occasion that you have not heard this before, every single country's presence is mandatory, and that would include me as well. It's not like I have a say in this either, you bloody wanker. Do you really think I enjoy going to these parties when I don't even have a proper partner to begin with?" The Briton sounded very much displeased as he revealed this to his fellow nation.

America's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Well, the way I see it, there's only one way to help us both."

England looked skeptically at the ash-blond man. "And what would that be?"

"Simple." A Cheshire grin graced the American's handsome features. "_We _go to the dance _together_, of course."

---

England honestly didn't know what in the world possessed him to say yes. He figured it must've been the doing of a malignant spirit, or perhaps he was on the verge of suffering some kind of nervous breakdown. Finally deciding that neither of the two options sounded particularly appealing, he settled on blaming the Darjeeling tea he'd been drinking instead.

Hey, it _could_'_ve _been spiked with some kind of drug, after all.

But looking at America's surprised face, England realized that the taller nation hadn't been anticipating that answer either. A pregnant silence lay between the two English-speaking countries, and the smaller blond shifted restlessly in his seat.

"…Oh," America replied after a few dazed seconds, being the ever-articulate man that he was. "That's, umm…nice."

"Indeed," England deadpanned, easily regaining control over the uncomfortable atmosphere. His face now took on a look of boredom, although the quick beating of his heart indicated anything but.

Silence enveloped the room again, and the island nation could feel his anger mounting. "Now if you have no business to do here, America, the door's right behind you. I highly suggest you stop gaping like a dead fish and depart before I do something very regrettable."

There was no need to repeat himself. The taller man turned tail and fled in a matter of seconds, leaving England to brood upon the events of the last few minutes. A groan escaped the honey-blond country's lips as he buried his face into his palms.

_What the fuck have I just gotten myself into…_?

---

Meanwhile, America was just as bewildered, if not more so. He stalked around the empty hallway in a vain attempt to make sense of what just happened. Frowning, the American leaned back against the wall in hopes of sorting out his jumbled thoughts.

He hadn't actually expected England to entertain his wild fancies, let alone agree with him. Couldn't the other man tell that he was joking? What in the world was he thinking, anyway? America, the great hero, dancing with old geezer England? A preposterous notion indeed!

…Only it wasn't. Truthfully, America didn't mind going to the dance with England, and that unsettled him greatly.

_Damn it! Damn England and his stupid unpredictability! Damn England and his knack for making everyone around him look like a fool! Damn England and his composure in handling awkward situations! _

America gritted his teeth in frustration. Why the hell was he thinking about England anyway? Damn that man for…

"–Always being around me, aru!"

"Yeah!" America shouted, pumping an enthusiastic fist in the air. He suddenly froze upon realizing that he was talking to himself. How unbecoming for a hero!

…Wait a minute. Americans did _not_ say "aru"! And that could only mean…

"China!" America exclaimed, turning his head in the direction of the Asian's voice. A few feet away from him, China raised his head to face the ash-blond. Relief crossed the black-haired man's features when he saw the American beckoning to him. Jogging over, China gave the taller nation a wide smile.

"Oh, America! I was worried it may have been someone else!"

America studied the other man's uneven breathing and sweat-beaded forehead. "You look like you've been running a marathon."

"Close enough," China panted, wiping his head with his long sleeves. "I've been trying to avoid Russia all day, aru."

"Russia?"

"He's been following me around this whole week!" the Asian man cried out. "And I don't even know why, aru!" Eyes glinting in suspicion, he turned to face America. "Do you think he's trying to get me to become one with him? I like him a lot, but not that much, aru!"

"That is pretty awful," America said with utmost sincerity and conviction. "So, did you lose him somewhere in the building? It's a pretty big place, but he's bound to find you eventually, you know."

"It's true, aru," China agreed mournfully. "There aren't many places in the Allied Headquarters to hide in."

They both stood together in a moment of mutual silence, each feeling as if he was the most wretched man on the face of the planet. Suddenly, a flash of black-and-white caught China's attention. Startled, he whirled round to inspect the dual-colored object. Upon taking a closer look, the Asian released a pleased gasp of surprise, and his eyes became strangely watery in an alarmingly short amount of time. But what, one may ask, could cause China to fall into such a state of jubilation? Why, the answer is quite simple, for standing a small distance away from China was none other than…

A panda.

"Oh, panda!" China cried out, tears of joy cascading in waves from his dark eyes. America merely blinked in befuddlement.

_How the hell did a panda get in here_?

Apparently, China was far too caught up in his euphoria to notice or care. He ran towards the bear, arms spread wide to embrace the animal. The world around the Asian seemed to slow down, and the previously drab hallways of the Allied Headquarters transformed into a field of bright yellow poppies. In the background, the joyous trill of violins could be heard.

..._Okay_…America edged nervously away, more than a little weirded out by the strange spectacle. His discomfort only increased when he noticed the sudden presence of sparkly pink spheres surrounding China as he continued to run. Magical shoujo bubbles, Japan had told him once, the very bane of heroic manliness.

America took this as his cue to leave, lest his awesomeness be threatened by the hazard of those deadly pink globes. Besides, it was just a panda anyway; it wasn't like China was about to be kidnapped by some rabid monster.

What could possibly go wrong?

---

As he continued to run forward in a surge of happiness, China failed to notice the American's abrupt departure or the unexpected malicious glint coming from the panda's eyes. Instead, with a great leap, he tackled the large bear onto the ground, laughing gleefully as he did so. Feeling furry arms wrap themselves around his small frame, China giggled and hugged the panda back.

"Panda!" the Asian exclaimed. "It is so wonderful to see you here, aru!"

Beneath him, the black-and-white bear made a bizarre sound, muffled only by the layers of China's loose clothes.

China frowned. How odd – he certainly never recalled meeting any pandas which made '_kolkolkolkol_' noises before.

_Wait a minute…_

"Ah!" Hastily, China squirmed out of the bear's hold and leapt away from the animal. The instant his feet touched the floor, he jabbed an accusatory finger at the panda. "You're…you're…Russia, aru!"

The tall animal rose to its feet and, in one fluid motion, tore off its own head. China nearly fell over in a dead faint, though whether it was from the apparent decapitation of his favorite animal or the face of a pale-skinned man he'd spend his entire morning trying to escape from he wasn't quite sure.

"Hello, China," Russia greeted, waving a large paw in the air. He truly would've made a rather comical sight had the Chinese man not been so petrified. Receiving no further response from the Asian, Russia reached out and held China's shoulder in a tight grip. Smiling with an iciness one can only attribute to living under such cold conditions for so long, he pulled the other man closer to him. China began sweating profusely upon looking at the taller man's frosty smile.

"You are coming to the dance with me, da?" Somewhere along those lines, Russia had magically conjured his faucet pipe seemingly from nowhere. "I would be very sad if you refused…"

Any traces of the merry violin tune vanished instantly. In fact, China could've sworn he heard the tolling of his own funeral bells. Russia, oblivious to the Asian man's distress, continued to smile creepily. "I'm taking your silence as a yes, da?"

Those few words heralded the end of their one-sided conversation, and Russia slung the smaller male over his shoulder, humming to himself as he made his way towards the building's exit. Blinking dazedly, China finally managed to snap out of his stupor.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

---

Time seemed to go by only far too quickly for the American, and before he knew it, the date of the dance had already crept up upon him.

He stood nervously in front of a wide mirror, twiddling his thumbs in anxiety as he studied his own appearance. Gone were his signature bomber jacket and brown pants; left in their stead was a sleek black tuxedo. It fit him perfectly, having been custom-made under the explicit orders of his boss, and accentuated his broad, muscular figure. It did, in all actuality, make him look quite dashing, if he did say so himself.

And by gods, America hated it. Screw appearances – at this rate, he'd most likely die of asphyxiation in a matter of minutes.

"Bear with it," Canada urged him from his position next to the American. He idly fixed his tie as he glanced at their reflections. "It looks good on you. England will like it."

A healthy blush sported on America cheeks. "Who said I was putting this on to impress him?"

Canada merely smiled deviously. "Why, Alfred, I only said that _he_ would like it. I never said that _you_ were trying to get him to notice you. Now where in the world did you get _that_ notion from?"

America snorted and turned away to hide his burning face. "Shut up, Mattie. C'mon, we're going to be late."

Behind his brother, Canada's smile widened.

_This is going to be far too easy_.

---

Lounging around the ballroom, England scowled as he looked at his wristwatch. America was late again…as always. He picked up a blueberry tart from the snack table, plopped it into his mouth and huffed in frustration. Perhaps coming here _was_ a mistake, he mused, and maybe it was best to ditch the party while he could. It wasn't like anyone was going to notice him leaving anyway. But before he could act on his decision, the banging of doors jolted him and made him pause.

"Heads up, everyone!" an obnoxious voice England easily identified as America's hollered. "And bask in the awesomeness of this dance, because America is now in the house!" There was a brief hush before the man added in a bored tone, "Oh yeah, Canada's here too."

England whirled round, ready to lecture America about his lack of manners, but did a double-take upon looking at him. Damn, but that outfit looked _outstanding_ on the American. If he'd known that this was how America looked like in formal drab, he sure as hell would've tried a whole lot harder trying to get him to wear them back in the colonial days.

Meanwhile, America caught the Briton's gaze and waved excitedly at him.

"Iggy!" he shouted, running at breakneck speed towards the island nation.

"America." England nodded his head curtly in response as he pulled the other nation away. Once out of eyeshot however, the smaller man proceeded to whack his fellow country on the back of his head.

"Ow!" America sniffled and rubbed his injury. "What was that for?"

Scoffing, England crossed his arms. "How uncouth, America. I'd honestly expected better from you. Yelling – and calling me 'Iggy', no less – and running like some madman…" England shook his head in exasperation. "It's very rude."

"How is hitting other people in the back of their heads any more polite?" America retorted. "Besides, it's not like everyone here's acting very orderly in the first place."

A short examination of the ballroom proved the American's remark correct.

The sound of trampling feet instantly drew in England's attention, and he looked over to locate the perpetrator. It turned out to be Poland, who was currently decked out in a forest green dress and running to his very dismayed (understandably, of course) dance partner, Lithuania. From across the room, both blond nations could hear Poland's exuberant shout of, "Ohmigod, Liet! Did you like, see the frills on this thing? Like, don't I look absolutely _fantabulous_?"

Greece and Japan stood by and watched the two nations in amusement. Their hands were linked together, parting only when one of Greece's cats fell into the fruit punch. Denmark, with his uncanny ability to be present when trouble arose, immediately rushed over and valiantly offered to give the half-drowned cat CPR. That, of course, earned him a good slap from Norway.

Nearby, Italy was mourning over the lack of pasta on the snack table. Germany went to console him right away and patted the ailing man's back awkwardly. The effect was instantaneous; Italy perked up at once and glomped the taller nation, crying out that having Germany by his side was far better than any kind of pasta. Hiding behind a potted plant, Hungary was busy gleefully taking pictures of the commotion around her.

It was to no one's shock that Canada vanished the moment he stepped in the ballroom. And, unsurprisingly, France was nowhere to be seen as well, which was quite an obvious signal that the men's bathroom would no longer be available to anyone else. Hungary was quick to change locations and gravitated her way over to the bathroom, her camera ready in hand.

England sighed and gave America a flat look. "Fine, you win this round."

America beamed at him in return. "Don't I always?"

Just as America was about to launch into another one of his 'I'm-so-awesome' speeches, a pleasant stream of music reached the two blond nations' ears. The orchestra – hand-picked specifically by Austria – had begun playing their various instruments, and a soft classical piece filled the entire ballroom. All the countries perked up straight away and looked around for their dance partners.

---

Sweden rapidly took action and turned stiffly to face his "wife". Said "wife" nearly keeled over in a heart attack.

"You. Me. D'nce. N'w."

"O-Okay?"

Giving a grunt of acknowledgement, Sweden swept his partner onto the center of the ballroom floor. As they danced, Finland eventually relaxed into Sweden's hold and laughed airily as he snuggled closer to the other man.

Entranced by the dancing duo, Korea leapt at the chance to dance with his partner. He dragged the unwilling Hong Kong along, stopping only when the other Asian threatened to blow him up with some pretty fireworks.

Austria was not to be outdone either. He walked up to Hungary and tapped her shoulder lightly to catch her attention. The woman blinked, pausing momentarily from the France and Canada video she managed to record while she was _observing_ – ahem, not peeking, mind you; those are two entirely different matters altogether – their bathroom, ah, experiences.

"Aww, Austria, I was just getting to the good part!"

Flushing, Austria cleared his throat. "Would you like to dance with me?"

Hungary's face broke out into a bright grin. All too soon, her camera was left lying, abandoned, on the floor. "Why, I thought you'd never ask!"

In the middle of the ballroom, Spain and Romano were already dancing as well. Or, at least, _Spain_ was trying while somehow attempting to dodge each and every one of Romano's stomping feet. Romano, on the other hand, was protesting rather vehemently and sent a particularly vicious kick to Spain's battered feet. The Spaniard, however, had anticipated the move and laughed jovially, easily sidestepping as he brought the other man closer to him. Loud curses filled the air, but Romano's face bloomed into an attractive shade of red. Laughing once more, Spain leaned down and whispered something against the other man's ear. Romano's shout of "I'm not a tomato, you bastard!" soon followed.

America looked at all the ruckus and felt a slight pang of envy. Everyone looked so happy, and he was…stuck with a partner who had no intention whatsoever of dancing.

He paused. Why was he being so depressed about not being able to dance with _England_, of all people? It wasn't like he _wanted_ to, or anything like that. But, as his gaze wandered over to the Englishman's slight form, America was stunned to see the longing and sadness shining ever so clearly in bright green depths.

_England is upset…because he's not dancing_?

And before he knew it, he was already standing in front of the other man. England blinked, and the two emotions America caught on earlier disappeared, leaving only annoyance in their wake. "America, what are you-"

The American said nothing as he grasped England's wrist and began pulling him towards the dance floor.

"Ah, wait! America!" England protested as he was steered unwillingly towards the fray of dancers. It seemed that the other man was intent in ignoring him however and remained silent, though his grip on the Briton did not loosen in the slightest.

Frustrated, the older nation attempted to wrench his hand away, but was further aggravated by the fact that he simply wasn't strong enough to escape his former colony's firm hold.

"No!" he cried out desperately, his other hand snaking around to latch onto America's in hopes of shoving the ash-blond away. If he hadn't been so intent on freeing himself, the Englishman may have caught the small flicker of hurt flashing through the American's eyes.

"England, will you stop being so difficult for once and just listen to me?" The younger country abruptly yanked his hand back, causing the Briton to stumble forward.

"I'm not dancing with you only because I want to make my hero business work," America clarified, a bright pink flush sporting on his tanned face. "I'm doing this because…well, because I want to."

The Briton turned puzzled and disbelieving green eyes up at him. "…What?"

Cheeks reddening further, America coughed into his fist. After he steeled his nerves, he turned twin orbs of determined sapphire in the English country's direction.

"I want to dance with you, England."

A hand reached out towards him, and the island nation blinked in shock. America, whose face remained an attractive shade of crimson, looked away in a very uncharacteristic show of bashfulness.

"So…you wanna dance?"

"…Fine." England didn't need to look at a mirror to realize that he was turning quite an interesting shade of scarlet himself. Hesitantly, he placed his hand over America's larger palm. The taller nation's eyes widened.

"Really? Like, really-really?"

"…Yes, really."

"I mean…really?"

"God, America! Will you stop using that word?" England yelled, smacking the younger man across the back of his head. Wincing, the American cast a doubtful look at his former guardian.

"…Seriously?"

Right then and there, England knew that the only thing preventing him from strangling the other man to death were his gentleman ethics. But that too was quickly disappearing due to the trying circumstances he was being put under.

There was much gritting of teeth. "_Seriously_, America."

"Ah, okay…if you say so," America bit his bottom lip nervously and pulled the Briton closer and closer to the dance floor until they were standing right at the very center of it. Breathing deeply, America calmed himself down, and, following the rhythm of the music, began to dance slowly. England adapted swiftly to the American's movements, meeting every single step with his own.

_Front and back…Front and back…_

"…Why?" England's whisper was so soft that America almost missed it entirely.

"Why what?" America asked, nonplussed.

"Why did you want to dance with me?"

_Ah…that…_

"Like I said before, I wanted to," the taller blond replied sincerely, "and you looked so alone…If I ignored you, I'd be neglecting my duty as your hero!"

"…Thank you, then. I really appreciate it."

America gave the smaller nation a sunny smile. "No problem, Iggy. Hey, does this mean I get another thank-you kiss from you?"

England sighed, but tiptoed forward to place a kiss upon America's face. But unlike the other one he previously bestowed to the taller man, this kiss was barely an inch shy from his lips. Time seemed to freeze temporarily for the two nations, but the moment was gone all too soon. As soon as it was over, the Briton ducked his head, all traces of his courage deserting him once the deed was done. In the meantime, America was surprised at the pleasant tingling sensation which remained even after the kiss had long since finished. Confused, he looked down at the English nation standing oh-so-close to him.

It was almost as if a light switch had gone off in America's head. England's green eyes never looked more beautiful or vibrant, nor had his lips ever appeared so appealing. And suddenly, those eyebrows he used to constantly poke fun at didn't quite look as monstrous as he remembered. Without so much as a thought, the taller man leaned into his partner's crown of bright blond hair and nuzzled into it.

Eyes widening in disbelief, England raised confused orbs of emerald to look at his former colony. "A-America?"

The other nation merely shook his head and bent forward slightly so that their foreheads were touching. "Later, England."

England seemed reluctant but did not pursue the matter any further. America, relieved at the other man's respectful gesture, gave him a grateful look.

They soon fell back into the dance, and England quickly lost himself in the cheerful atmosphere, the dazzling music…and the feel of America holding him in his arms. Unknowingly, the island nation's features relaxed into a soft smile.

Perhaps dancing wasn't quite so bad after all.

---

Cheesiest ending EVER. But at least it was cute...Or at least, I think so. Ah, the tsundere-ness...It burns! In a good way, of course.

And for those of you going, "Hong Kong/Korea? WTF?", I can explain. I've seen the coupling a few times on dA, and they look really good together. Plus, I'm going to need their character dynamics for the next chapter (besides, if you think about it, they're almost kind of like Denmark and Norway, or even America and England). Bear with me if this isn't a pairing you particularly like.

Again, feel free to review and tell me what you liked (or, consequently, disliked) so that I can do it again next time, or give a couple suggestions for future chapters. Maybe you can even give me a good idea for a Hero Rule! I have ten already, but I'm always open to new suggestions, especially if I think it would work spectacularly with America and England's characters.

A big thanks to everyone for reading!


	4. Hero Rule 4A

Soo...it's certainly been a while... *dodges all the thrown rocks*

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia...or NcDonald's (1000 points to whoever figures out which fast food joint this actually is in real life...NOT), but you all should know that by now.

**A/N: **Okay, I lied. _Heroics for Dummies _is not, like I said earlier, going to be a ten chapter fic. It is instead going to be… *drum-roll* an _eleven_ chapter story because I had to split this insanely long chapter in two. Sorry you guys have to bear with my awful writing for a while longer. I have a million reasons as to why this didn't come up ages ago, but I'm going to spare you guys on all the nasty details. Once again, thanks to all those wonderful reviews, favorites and alerts. Eh, I tried to reply to the reviews, but if I missed you, then my apologies.

**Pairings: **America/England, and five of the ten aforementioned pairings from the last chapter will be present in this one. As for the other five...Well, there's a reason why this chapter was split into two...

**Summary: **America finally confronts England about their nonexistent relationship and discovers a rather disturbing truth about the older nation. Now, America is stuck between two options - convince England to go into a relationship with him, or lose the other man forever.

**Warnings: **T for language and some implied sex/sexual jokes.

"Bla bla bla": Dialogue

_Bla bla bla_: Thoughts, emphasis, flashbacks and hero rules (always at the top of the page)

**Heroics for Dummies**

-- Written by Shoop da Boop --

_Hero Rule no. 4: Consult those with more experience in order to fully understand and appreciate your relationship with your damsel in distress._

---

"_I really like you, England_."

_Shock_. _Incredulity_. _Hope_.

"_I_-_I like you too_, _America_. _And I_'_m very glad you feel the same way_, _but_…"

_Hesitance_. _Doubt_. _Wariness_.

"…_Give me some time to think this through_, _alright_? _I_'_ll give you an answer when I_'_m absolutely sure of my decision_."

---

First, there was waiting.

America could deal with that.

It was perfectly understandable after all, for someone as drab as England to be so utterly overwhelmed by the fact that he was now the object of America's affections. Yes, a concept as mind-blowing as such would surely take any sane person a good deal of time to recover from, and America was more than willing to give the Englishman just that to adjust to such an amazing revelation.

Then, there was _avoiding_.

That America wasn't too crazy about.

Unfortunately, England remained insistent on keeping his distance from the ash-blond man. Their conversations became clipped and brief, with England getting straight to the point before America could switch topics. Eye contact was never held for beyond two seconds, and even the slightest touch between the two nations would cause England to flinch rather dramatically. This kind of behavior would've been fine for perhaps a couple of days, but three weeks was definitely pushing it.

Three weeks and no England made America a very unhappy man. And if there was one thing America hated most, it was being unhappy. That and soggy burgers. He had his fair share of dislike for those abominations too.

Naturally, the strong-willed country wasn't about to let the matter slide. Three weeks was a good enough time for England to come to terms, and America was, quite frankly, too impatient to wait any longer.

And so it was during the next world conference that America decided to finally take action. His plan? Well, it wasn't so much a plan rather than a vague idea of getting England the hell out of there and having a steamy make out session, but for now, it would have to do. It was a very good idea, America decided, and he couldn't wait to watch it blossom into fruition.

…After Prussia was done giving everyone his 'One-Million-and-One-Reasons-Why-I'm-So-Awesome-and-Should-Therefore-Still-Exist' tirade, that is. It would certainly help a lot if France wasn't busy disagreeing with everything he said while Japan did the exact opposite too. Having lost interest after listening to the third word of Prussia's first reason, America quickly stole a glance at his former mentor. The blond island nation was currently holding a teacup daintily in his hand, scowling as he assessed the chaotic situation going on around him.

In other words, England was completely ignoring him, and America didn't like it one bit.

_Heroes weren_'_t supposed to be ignored_, _least of all by their damsels in distress_!

He needed to catch England's attention, and for that, a distraction was required. Just a _small_, almost unnoticeable distraction.

So he went ahead and jostled the table. Only, due to his immense strength, the American ended up flipping said piece of furniture over instead. Everyone instantly diverted their attention toward him, but the two German brothers were the quickest to protest.

"America, what do you think you're doing? We're in the middle of a very serious meeting!"

"Dammit, America! I was just getting to Reason 452!"

Clearing his throat impatiently to hide his growing embarrassment, America rose off his chair to make a very important announcement.

"I call for a hamburger break!" he proclaimed loudly, drawing sighs of resignation and annoyance from his fellow nations.

"Request denied," Germany promptly replied, expression hardening as he folded muscled arms across his chest. "Breakfast was only two hours ago, and we still have much to do-"

But, as Germany raised his eyes to meet America's, he was stunned to see a deadly, predatory glint in those usually cheerful blue eyes.

"Hey Germany, I've got a couple of nukes at home I've been dying to try out…"

The blond martinet squirmed with unease. "…I vote we eat at NcDonald's."

"Hear, hear," the other countries agreed, casting suspicious looks at the very smug American.

"Awesome." America's grin widened as he watched all the nations shuffle reluctantly out of the meeting room but kept his eyes trained on his former colonist, who, he was relieved to notice, was one of the last to exit the premises. Easily crossing the distance between them in two large strides, he clasped a hand on the Briton's shoulder.

The smaller man stiffened under his touch before rigidly turning around to meet his gaze. "Yes?"

"England, we need to talk."

"No."

"Thanks! I'll make it worth your time!"

"I-I…B-But…" England stammered, seemingly unable to comprehend the sheer obnoxiousness the American was displaying. Taking a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure, England finally managed to croak out, "Fine, but later, when we're alone."

"Umm…England, in case you haven't noticed…" America swept his hand grandly across the empty conference room, "we _are_ alone."

"Oh…" The Briton shifted nervously. "Alright then. Make it quick."

"Our relationship," America began, but frowned when he saw the other country wince.

"…What about it?"

"You like me, and I like you. So why is it not happening?"

"I, well…that is…" England coughed into his fist. "America, I'm sure that you've got it all mixed up, and that what you truly feel for me is, in actuality, brotherly affection." He smiled reassuringly at the younger man. "They're very different emotions, but I'd understand if you've somehow managed to mistaken one for the other."

Whatever England was expecting as a response, it sure wasn't the feral sound which escaped America's throat, nor was it to be abruptly pushed against the hard wall. "Fuck you, England! I _know_ what I feel, and it sure as hell isn't _just_ brotherly affection. When I confessed to you back then after the dance, I was dead serious. Why can't you see it? I'm already a grown nation now, been one ever since the Revolution!"

Then he saw it – that small flicker of pain in those bright green eyes before vanishing and replacing itself entirely with raw fury. Stunned, America had no time to react when the Briton shoved him away with a strength that should've been impossible coming from such a skinny figure.

"Don't you think I already knew that?" England spat out venomously. "You're not my little brother anymore. We already established that when you declared war on me."

Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Why England was being so hesitant, why he didn't want to get into a relationship, why he was stubbornly rejecting every single reason being thrown at him…It all made sense now.

"You're afraid of me," America said in disbelief. "You're afraid that I'll go back on you again. You're afraid that _I_'_ll hurt you like I did before_."

There was no reply to this, but America could see it in the Englishman's eyes all the same.

_Apprehension. Reluctance. Fear_.

America was no fool, and England's eyes were always so expressive, so easy to read. But as much as he wanted to simply deny it, England did have every reason to distrust him. It had happened before, after all, the breaking of that bond they once thought was indestructible.

"I won't do it again," America promised. "That was all in the past. What we have now is different."

Still England shook his head, a bitter smile etched onto his face. "Empty promises are so easy to make, America." He placed a comforting hand on the taller man's shoulder. "But you have no idea how much they hurt when they're broken."

"Is there really no way we can be together then?" the American asked dejectedly, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Are we really going to allow our pasts to control us like this?"

Once again the island nation clammed up, and that was all the encouragement America needed to continue.

"What happened before can't be changed, England; I know that. But wouldn't you at least give me one chance to redeem myself?"

"I'd love to, but…" The older personification fidgeted uncomfortably, desperately wracking his brain for a reason – _any_ reason – to reject America; but it was becoming increasingly difficult to, especially when he _knew_ he wanted this just as much as the other did. "We're not exactly what you'd call…'experts' in relationships. If we rushed headlong into one, we'd be stumbling blindly around, not knowing whether what we were doing was right or wrong."

Strangely, America didn't seem to be deterred by this at all; if anything, the man seemed to perk straight up. England scowled at this.

_Bastard._ _Still can_'_t read the atmosphere_, _I see_.

"Oh, that's no problem, Iggy!" The honey-blond man's scowl promptly deepened upon hearing his dreaded nickname. "'Cause I've got just the thing to help us get through that!"

"And what would that be?"

Instantly, the American's hand dove into his jacket pocket, rummaging blindly around for a while before finally finding whatever it was he was looking for; in a matter of seconds, the Briton's view became obscured by the very same article America was locating mere moments ago. England tried to take a step back from the item being shoved so rudely into his face before remembering that, yes, he was still pinned against the wall. His mood dampened considerably at the sight of the glaringly bright object, which was still far too close to allow him to decipher what it actually was.

"…And what would that be?" he reiterated, hoping that America would _just get the hint_.

"The Hero Book, of course!" America declared happily, finally taking a step back away from the Englishman.

"Of course…" _I should_'_ve totally expected that_. _Bloody git_.

"You know what they always say," the younger man chirped, holding the book up in the air and regarding it with sheer awe and devotion. "When in doubt, just ask yourself, 'what would the Hero Book do?'"

"Nothing, I guess. It _is_ just a book, after all," England quipped, barely refraining himself from rolling his eyes. But even then, it was hard to hide the small, upward twitch of the corner of his lips.

"You know what I mean," America mumbled petulantly, giving the other nation an exasperated look. But deep down, he was smiling.

_Now _that's _the Iggy I know_.

"Anyway, the last time I read it, I was at Hero Rule no. 3." Grinning, America pulled his elder beside him so they could read together. "So that means that we can read the fourth rule now! Aren't you excited, Iggy?"

"Just get to it, you insufferable wanker."

Without much further ado, America opened the book to the designated page.

_Hero Rule no. 4: Consult those with more experience in order to fully understand and appreciate your relationship with your damsel in distress._

"So, it says here…umm…" America turned questioning blue eyes at his fellow country. "What does it say anyway?"

Fully expecting a reaction like this, England glared at his former colony and snatched the book. "It says that we have to ask other people for help."

"Help? So, it's telling us to ask other dating couples for suggestions on how to improve our relationship?"

"We don't have one _yet_," England stressed, "but yes, that's the gist of it."

"Do you think it will work?"

The smaller man paused to weigh his options on a mental scale. It seemed that this rule was – compared to the others, at least – rather practical, and it couldn't exactly hurt to venture into new grounds. Below the surface however, England was still painfully aware of the misgivings and resentment he held for America due to the Revolution, no matter how much he adored and loved the other now.

"It…It might," he admitted, albeit reluctantly.

"Good." Tilting his head to face the island nation, America inquired, "You're going to do this too, aren't you? You promised to help me in my hero business before, and you did say that you were going to give me another chance."

"…Very well," England relented halfheartedly. "If we can find sufficient reasons on why we should be together, and why a relationship between us isn't truly as bad as I say it is…then I shall reconsider."

"Fine, watch me then. I'm going to make you fall in love with me," America announced determinedly, sapphire eyes burning with such tenacity and willpower England almost crumbled right there and then.

Instead, he scoffed, "Idiot, you can't do something like that."

"Mark my words, England. I'm going to change your mind, even if that's the last thing I do!" And then he was gone, dashing off into the horizon in search of lovers and the advice only they could offer. But if, at any moment America had turned back to look at the Briton, he surely would've noticed the small, self-depreciating smile decorating said Englishman's pale features.

_You can_'_t make me fall in love with you_, _America_…_because I already have_.

-- **France/Canada** --

America's first decision was to visit his closest of kin, Canada. It was natural after all, to return to family during times of trouble, and Canada was indeed in a relationship, thereby making him an eligible consultant. Never mind that he was going out with _France_, someone who America was fairly certain England would disapprove of in terms of love advice.

Finding them was easy enough. Canada had an affinity for the gardens outside the world conference building, especially that one little corner filled with maple trees. Jogging over, America was met with the sight of the two nations surprisingly not doing anything sexual (not that he _wanted _to see his brother getting it on with the greatest pervert in the whole world), but rather just enjoying a peaceful lunch.

"Mattie!" he greeted. "France!"

"Alfred!" his brother called back while his fellow blond merely graced the newcomer with a welcoming smile.

"Are you here to have lunch with us?" Canada asked, politely shifting over to make some space for the American.

"Naw, I'm just here to talk." That said, America plopped himself down to Canada's right.

Making himself comfortable on the soft grass, America wasted no time in tackling the issue at hand. "I need your help. From both of you, actually."

"Both of us?" Canada blinked. "What for?"

"Dating advice," the ash-blond disclosed, twiddling his thumbs restlessly. Attention spurred, France leaned in to listen. "I kind of…want to get into a relationship…with England."

Previously silent throughout the entire exchange, France suddenly made the strangest squawking noise and choked on his mouthful of beer. Canada was instantly by his side to rub comforting circles on the other man's back.

"That's wonderful, Alfred! I'm very happy for you!"

"_Angleterre_?!" France cried out once he recovered. "Why on earth would you pick _him_?"

"…I have my reasons."

"Such a pity." The Frenchman shook his head regretfully, shrugging his shoulders in a fashion that would've looked absolutely horrendous on anyone but him. "Someone with such a semblance to _mon Mathieu _should not be wasted on that hideous and uncouth country."

"He's not ugly," America grumbled sourly. "And if you're not going to help me, I can always look for someone else."

"_Non_, you misunderstand me. I never once said that I wasn't going to help you. It is indeed a shame that you chose _Angleterre_ out of all the other available countries, but who am I to dissuade you from the path of true love?"

"Thanks, France. So, got any pointers?"

"Ah, but I am the country of love, am I not?" France said. "It is only natural that I am a professional in the matters of _l_'_amour_. Trust me, _Amerique_, I can do far more than just give you a few pointers."

"Fire away then," America grinned. "I'm all ears."

"Very well. I shall now give you the basic necessities of a healthy relationship. The most important parts of love are commitment, understanding, adoration and care," the Frenchman listed off. He then added as an afterthought, "And sex. Lots and lots of sex."

Both North American brothers flushed a bright shade of pink.

"Take _Mathieu_ and me, for example. We have sex. Every day. For a minimum of one hour," France clarified, and America could just _feel _the waves of smugness radiating off him.

"F-Francis!" Canada sputtered, his face blushing so madly it matched the color of his hair. "I don't really think Alfred needs to know about this."

But, like always, Canada was blatantly ignored.

"And sometimes, if I'm lucky, we go for a few rounds more. Our record is two and a half hours nonstop. Remember that well, _Amerique_."

By this point, Canada was frantically searching the ground for even the tiniest of holes to hide in. America, on the other hand, seemed to be so utterly dumbfounded by this new revelation that his jaw muscles were rendered completely ineffective.

Meanwhile, France was still prattling on about the pros and cons of each bedding position, about the many toys he was all too willing to share with the American and about the different proper techniques to ensure minimal pain and maximum pleasure.

"And now," France declared, waving his hand in a dramatic flourish, "onto the subject of deflowering _Angleterre_."

Noticing the trapped and exceedingly embarrassed expression on his brother's face, Canada decided that now was probably a good time to intervene.

"Francis…"

"-And he may complain at first, being the crude, foul-mannered country that he is, but-"

"…F-Francis…I don't think-"

"-Toys make the experience all the more gratifying, of course. May I recommend-"

"_Francis_," Canada cut in, voice dripping with rancor. He didn't want to resort to such a tactic, but, as his brother so loved to say, desperate times called for desperate measures. And America was indeed looking more and more desperate by the minute. "_No sex_. _For a month_."

The Frenchman instantly froze, eyes boggling out comically, before he whirled around to face his lover.

"_A month_!" France, sounding very much like the world had just come to an end, placed the back of his hand against his forehead in a spectacular fashion. Rose petals floated down from out of nowhere and covered the grass around the distressed man. America idly wondered where the hell they came from and pitied the poor soul who'd eventually have to clean them up. "But _Mathieu_, that is simply…_terrible_! _Mon dieu_, how could you betray me so?"

"You weren't listening to me!"

"Ah, this is almost as bad as that one time you where denied me our fifteenth round!" the ailing Frenchman sobbed.

Canada blushed madly and sputtered, "I was getting tired!"

"Woe is me," France said dejectedly, rising to his feet. "Excuse me then, for I have to leave and seek for an outlet to drown my sorrows. Please, do not get up on my account. No, really, I insist." And with that said, he sauntered gracefully away in search of a drinking buddy – Prussia, most likely.

"We weren't going to anyway," America mumbled irritably, mouth twisted into a childish pout.

"Oh, ignore him," Canada said. "Francis does this all the time, but he'll always come back within a couple of minutes." He then turned inquisitively at his brother. "So, what's this about England I hear?"

"Well, I dunno…I sorta…fell in love with him, I guess…"

"I see." The Canadian nodded in understanding. "Out of curiosity, when did you find out you were in love with him?"

"I…I'm not too sure, actually," America answered doubtfully. "Maybe I'd always been in love with him this whole time, but just never realized it. Maybe it'd been there all along, but I was just too foolish to see it."

"'Til now?"

America grinned. "'Til now."

They both sat down in a contented silence, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere that was almost nonexistent due to their hectic lives. After a while, America stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off his brown pants.

Smiling serenely, Canada gave his brother a questioning gaze. "Leaving so soon?"

"Wish I could stay longer, but Iggy's not going to fall in love with me while I'm sitting here doing nothing," America said, letting a fond smile grace his lips. "It was nice talking to you, though. And thanks…you know, for listening."

"Of course," the Canadian replied as he watched his brother's silhouette disappear gradually across the horizon. As soon as all traces of America were gone however, Canada heaved a huge sigh of regret.

'_Well, so much for Canada's Super Awesome Plan to Get America and England Together_,' he thought mournfully. But as he looked towards the sky, Canada found it impossible to feel any remorse for his brother's building relationship with England.

_I hope you finally find your happiness_, _Alfred_…y_ou and England both_.

-- **Hong Kong/Korea** --

Too busy wallowing in his self-pity, England didn't notice how much time he'd spent moping before deciding to mobilize. Randomly hunting around for just anyone wouldn't help very much, he decided. If he was going to ask a person for advice, it would have to be someone he was at least somewhat familiar with.

And who better to ask than one of his other former colonies, Hong Kong?

"Hey, Hong Kong! Wait up!" England called out once he was able to locate the Asian man.

Pausing in his tracks, Hong Kong raised an eyebrow as he waited for the Briton to catch up. "Did you want something, England?"

"I need…some…guidance regarding relationships and…" England sighed, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. "Oh blast it all, I want to start a relationship with America, and I'm going to need quite a bit of help in that area."

Instead of replying however, Hong Kong gave him a look of utter disbelief, which was to say that his eyes widened by about 0.0003 millimeters.

"America?" The slight hitch in his voice showed just how surprised the Asian was.

"Yes, America. And looking at your own choice in partners, I should hardly think that you are in any position to comment any further."

Hong Kong sent the other man a dry look. "Touché."

"Indeed. You were the first person I had in mind, should I fall into a predicament like so, especially due to the similarities between Korea and America."

"Similarities?" Hong Kong scoffed, smiling wryly. "Korea is practically an Asian version of America; they're almost the exact same person."

"It is as you put it," England chuckled. "But this makes it all the more important that I come to you, of course. You seem to have the experience in dealing with these kinds of people…in the romantic sense, I mean."

Pondering over this, Hong Kong remained quiet for a minute or two before finally speaking. "Korea…is rather special and extremely hard to deal with, I'll give you that. But he can be mature when the time calls for it, which admittedly is not very often."

"Just like America then."

Hong Kong nodded. "He's fickle, childish and obnoxious to a point where you find yourself often considering suicide as your only getaway, but he's a good person at heart…if not a tad bit too obsessed with breasts."

The Asian looked like he was about to continue, but a flash of blue and white barreled straight into him, effectively cutting off all conversation.

"Did I just hear someone say breasts?" the newcomer crowed delightedly, swinging his wide sleeves around. "I _knew_ you'd understand how amazing they are one day, da-ze!"

"Yong-Soo, get off me," Hong Kong growled from beneath the enthusiastic Korean.

Blinking owlishly, Korea titled his head in confusion. "What're you talking about, da-ze? Are you still upset about how sore you were last night?" He huffed, placing both hands on his hips. "I thought we both agreed to alternate, da-ze!"

"_Not_ going to happen again, trust me," Hong Kong hissed back. "_Anyway_, I was just giving England some counseling about relationships before you interrupted us."

"You're giving him relationship counseling?" Korea instantly scrambled off the fallen country and was on his feet in an instant. He then beamed at England, proffering his hand out for the other man to shake. Hesitantly, England held out his hand as well and blanched slightly when the Korean shook it with too much vigor.

"You should've come to me in the first place! C'mon, _everyone _knows that relationship counseling started in Korea, da-ze!"

"I thought relationship counseling originated in France," England said cynically, recalling the many, many times France had bragged in front of everyone that all matters of _amour_ began in his country.

"Oh, so you've been misled too! Don't worry! You're lucky I'm here to set you straight, da-ze!"

"Err…alright then. What kind of advice do you have in mind?"

"Hmm…It's always best to compare this kind of thing with real life experience, da-ze," Korea said thoughtfully. "So I'm going to use Hong Kong and me for an example!"

"Okay, Hong Kong's not the most interesting person in the world, da-ze, so he's really, really lucky to have such a great boyfriend like me," the Korean nation blathered on cheerfully, ignoring the poisonous glare his lover was sending him. "But he can get pretty crazy too, especially with his fireworks. And it's the worst whenever he brings them to my country during his visits! I mean, I don't even know _how _he gets them past security all the time, and he never runs out of them either, da-ze!

England couldn't help but smirk slightly as he recalled the long-gone days of raising the troublesome colony. "I couldn't agree with you more."

"Yeah, so we all know that my boyfriend's a weirdo, right?" Korea said in a solemn voice. "Take my word on this, da-ze."

"What's your point?" both England and Hong Kong asked, amusement and annoyance evident in the two nations' tones respectively.

"What I'm _trying _to say, anyway, is that no one's perfect, da-ze. Like Hong Kong's a sadistic pyromaniac, and I know that I can be a little loud sometimes…" Hong Kong's glare intensified, causing the room temperature to drop a good twenty degrees. Korea was quick to rectify his statement, "Okay, I'm _really_ loud _all _the time. But that's what makes our relationship interesting, da-ze!"

"It's true," Hong Kong added softly. "Dynamics are very important in a relationship."

"Yep," Korea agreed, "'cause Hong Kong wouldn't be Hong Kong if it wasn't for his creepy obsession with fireworks, but that's what makes him so special, da-ze!"

"What he means is that your partner's flaws don't matter to you when you're in a relationship," the more stoic Asian explained. "And that's because you eventually accept their personality quirks for who they are, because that's what makes them, well, _them_."

"So, if you're going to go into a relationship with someone, you try to overlook these things, da-ze. Or, even if you can't, you try to tolerate them a little more, you know?"

"Of course," Smiling slightly, the Englishman gave a warm pat to his former colony's shoulder. "Thanks for the advice, Hong Kong. I knew I was right in my decision to come to you first." Noticing Korea's pout, England hastily added, "And you too, Korea. You were a great help as well."

"Obviously, da-ze," Korea giggled, rolling his eyes childishly. "But seriously, England, good luck, okay? Me and Hong Kong will be rooting for you all the way!"

"Many thanks, Korea. Your support is very much appreciated. Well, if you don't mind, I must be on my way now." The Briton dipped his head gratefully at the two Asians before turning and departing.

And as Korea waved enthusiastically at England's retreating figure, he slung his free arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. "So, we sure did him a big favor today, didn't we, da-ze?"

Hong Kong nodded, the corners of his lips twitching into an almost passable smirk. "I'll say."

-- **Germany/Italy** --

By some strange spot of luck, America ran into another couple within two minutes of his search. Well, technically there was only _one _of the couple present, but that'll still do, wouldn't it?

"Italy!" America called out to the brunet, who perked up straight away at the prospect of having some company.

"Ve, ve, it's America!" Italy chirped, bounding over to the American. "Are you here to enjoy some wonderful pasta with me?"

"Err…no, but I don't mind taking up on your offer next time. So, why are you eating alone today? Is Germany busy or something?"

"Oh no!" Light laughter filled the air as Italy shook his head. "Germany's out buying some of his squishy potatoes, but he'll be back in a few minutes."

"Okay…" the American paused thoughtfully as he tilted his head to face his Italian companion. "Hey, Italy, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure! I'll do my best to answer them!"

"So, let's just say that I, _in theory_, want to get into a relationship with someone-"

"You've finally admitted your undying love for England? How exciting!" Italy twittered, clapping both hands together in delight.

America balked. "How do you know if I was talking about England?"

Shock and disbelief became evident in Italy's warm brown eyes, and he instantly began apologizing profusely. "Oh, you mean it wasn't? I'm so sorry! I thought you were referring to him!"

"I was," America muttered, slightly disconcerted that even the airheaded _Italy_ was able to guess who he was talking about. "I just couldn't believe you knew. Was it that obvious?"

Giggling, the Italian shook his head. "No, but I'd always believed that you two would end up with each other somehow! Childhood relationships are always the best!" A wistful look flitted across the cheerful brunet's features, but it disappeared so quickly America wondered if it was merely a figment of his imagination. "But that's not what you came to me for, ve! So we'd best get back on topic!"

"Ah, you're right." Worrying slightly with his lower lip, America struggled to recall what he was about to ask the Italian before his train of thought was completely set off-track. Finally, he decided to settle for a question which he personally thought was a must-know before he got into a relationship. "What do you and Germany usually do? As a couple, I mean."

"Ve, that's so easy! Usually Germany tries to work all the time, but then I come up behind him and give him a great, big hug! He'd try to get away, of course, but he always gives in eventually, like the big softie he actually is. Sometimes he even takes me on a date, except he doesn't really call it that; he likes to say that we're spending some 'manly bonding time together' instead."

"We also have pasta for lunch every day!" Italy added merrily. "Oh, mustn't forget dinner…and if I beg hard enough, we even have it for breakfast the next day too!"

America brightened up immediately. "Does this mean that I can get England to buy – not cook – me burgers for three meals a day?"

Italy took the question into consideration, tapping his forehead as he thought this through. "Well, most of the time, Germany only agrees after we have one nice round of good sex. So maybe if you have sex with England…"

The Italian was instantly stopped by the flustered American's palm being shoved into his face. "N-Never mind then. Forget that I asked."

"Sure! Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

But what America was about to reply was forever lost, because at that moment, Germany made his way towards the two conversing nations, one hand carrying a box containing his standard dish of mashed potatoes and Wurst. Italy immediately bounced over to greet his blond lover.

"Germany! Germany! It's been _forever_ since we last met!"

"…I only left for a maximum time of fifteen minutes." Then, catching sight of America, he sent the ash-blond a particularly sour look. Clearly, the American was still not quite forgiven yet for his earlier tactics during the World Conference.

"America." Germany nodded stiffly. Or, at least, as stiffly as he could while Italy was glomping him with such enthusiasm. Then again, Germany _was _stiffness personified and therefore pulled it off rather nicely.

"Hey Germany," the American responded happily, his fingers waggling in a cheerful wave.

"Is there a reason you're here today? Alone with Italy while I was away?" Germany's tone was particularly menacing as he set the Italian down and stood protectively next to him.

"Oh, don't mind him, Germany! America was here to ask me a few questions, but he's done now, right?" Pleading brown eyes met understanding blue ones, and America stepped away from the couple, hands up in the air in mock surrender.

"But of course! I wouldn't possibly want to intrude on your meal together!"

Italy smiled in gratitude, leaning towards the German to link their arms lovingly together. A slight pink tinged Germany's cheeks, and America was completely stunned when he saw the uptight blond returning Italy's bright grin with a small, but tender smile of his own.

_So that's what love feels like_…

Watching the pair settle themselves on a nearby bench, Italy draping himself comfortably over the German's lap, America wondered why he suddenly felt so alone.

-- **Denmark/Norway** --

England prided himself for being an intellectual, and a very good one at that.

Going to Hong Kong for relationship counseling could only be described as an act of pure genius, England thought smugly. First and foremost, they were on friendly terms; secondly, he was in a relationship which had already lasted for a decently long time; and thirdly, he was dating _Korea_, the epitome of obnoxiousness, second only to America. Truly, if that wasn't absolute mental brilliance on his part, England didn't know what was.

Logically speaking, it should've been wise to follow up with yet another couple who had a resemblance to his and America's personalities. Logically speaking, it should've been wise to go to the neighboring countries he was more familiar with. Everything did make more sense when logic was put into the equation, after all.

…But exactly when did an individual like _Denmark _follow something as trivial as logic?

England was already beginning to regret coming to him in the first place.

"You want relationship advice from _us_?!" Denmark exclaimed, drawing Norway closer to him in a tight one-armed hug at the last word of his statement. Scowling, Norway effectively terminated all physical contact between them with a sharp elbow to the taller man's kidney.

"England is coming to _us_ for advice…" Denmark whispered, his expression completely bewildered. He turned to stare at his boyfriend dubiously. "Pinch me, Nor. This has to be some kind of really weird dream."

Norway was all too happy to comply, and the Dane flinched at his unrelenting grip. "Okay, that's enough. You can let go now."

Still, the obvious pain on his arm brought Denmark back to the topic at hand, and he immediately resumed in staring at England as if the other man was some kind of godsend. "You really _are _coming to us for advice. Holy shit…I never thought a day like this would happen. Well, I guess it's not so surprising, especially since I am the King of Northern Europe."

"As fellow Europeans, I was hoping that you'd be willing to enlighten me on certain aspects of initiating and maintaining a proper relationship, much like the one you and Norway have right now," England explained while deciding that it was probably in his best interests to leave out that their relationship was, in truth, anything but proper. Dysfunctional, more like.

"Aww...you flatter us, England!" Beaming, the tallest of the three men clapped the English personification's back heartily. Barely preventing himself from keeling over, England forced himself to smile back at the exuberant blond.

"So, relationship advice, is it?" Denmark flashed England a toothy grin. "I've got a ton of experience here, and since we're kind-of-but-not-really neighbors, I'd be happy to share it with you!"

England merely maintained his forced smile, not exactly trusting himself to speak at the moment.

"Anyway, see what Nor here is holding in his hands?" Denmark asked proudly, waving a large hand over the smaller man sitting next to him.

The Briton blinked as he inspected the blank-faced Norwegian's hands, which seemed to be clutching a loose sheaf of papers. It was hard to determine what exactly the content was, but England could just barely make out a few words scrawled into the front of the thin sheets. "Err…Paper?"

"Ho ho ho!" Denmark's deafening voice filled the courtyard they were currently occupying as he slammed his palm once again to England's back, causing the Briton to sway slightly off balance. "Oh, England, you really crack me up sometimes." He then sniffled dramatically and raised one hand to rub away his tears of mirth.

"…Yeah…" The Briton surreptitiously took a step back away from the overenthusiastic man.

"'Course he's holding papers, but this isn't _just_ your everyday, ordinary papers! This is…" The Dane paused for a theatrical effect, "…a script!"

England quirked his head quizzically to the side. "A script?"

"Why yes indeed, my fellow European buddy! What Norway is currently holding in his anorexically skinny and excessively bony hands is nothing other than a script! Written by yours truly, of course."

"_You _wrote the script?" England felt like slapping himself in annoyance. It seemed that spending too much time with Denmark was killing off all his brain cells and causing him to parrot the other man like some kind of idiot. Perhaps this was the way America felt like on a daily basis.

"That's right!" Denmark affirmed joyfully. "It's all part of a relationship, you know. You share what you enjoy with your other half. Romantic, isn't it?"

"…I guess…"

"So, anyway, I've been thinking, there're so many drama series out there in the world. American, English, Chinese, Korean… practically every single country has their own amazing TV show or another, right?" He glanced briefly at England and was pleased when the smaller man gave a slow, hesitant nod. "Yeah, but then I also realized that, well, _Denmark _doesn't exactly have one. Their own amazing, world-renowned drama series, I mean. And that made me very sad."

"…I see…"

"But that's what inspired me to come up with something myself!" Denmark proclaimed with great excitement. "And after shedding bucketfuls of blood, sweat and tears, I finally wrote it! The greatest script the world shall ever know! I call it 'The Life and Times of Denmark', written by Denmark. Isn't that incredible?"

"…I suppose…" Apparently, Denmark's exuberance had reduced his coherency to a mere two words per sentence. How embarrassing.

"Yeah, and being the super awesome person that I am, I even offered to let Norway try it out! Boy, you're lucky you happened to catch us right this moment, 'cause then you get to hear it before it becomes famous! Seriously, I'd _die _for an opportunity like this!" Grinning, Denmark turned and focused all of his attention upon his silent boyfriend. "Well, Nor, c'mon and let's show England whatcha got!"

The Norwegian snorted noncommittally, but he looked down at the small pile of papers regardless. He frowned as he read the script Denmark had so painstakingly written.

"Ow," he recited, tone completely deadpan. "Oh no, I have fallen on a pebble. Hmm, I wonder how it got there. No matter, I shall now proceed to annihilate it with my battleaxe."

The taller Nordic's palm had a happy meeting with his face. "You don't have to sound so dead, Nor. Think about the passion! The feeling! The excitement!"

Norway merely stared blankly back, and England felt a pang of sympathy for the taller pale-haired man. Hey, it wasn't exactly the Dane's fault that his boyfriend had the emotional capability of a brain-dead rock.

Yelling out a grand war cry, Denmark brandished his massive weapon (where from England dreaded to know) and swung it around, crushing a few innocent pebbles on the ground. He laughed triumphantly after a few minutes of rock-genocide and hoisted the heavy battleaxe on his shoulder. Turning to the quiet blue-clad nation, Denmark flashed him a brilliant grin and an eager thumbs-up. "See? Just like that!"

Norway rolled his eyes, but England noticed that even through his exasperation, there seemed to be a trace of amusement and fondness. "You're such a dork, Denmark."

Booming laughter erupted from Denmark's throat as he pulled his now smiling boyfriend closer to him in a one-armed hug. "Yeah, but at least I'm _your _dork."

Feeling distinctly like a third wheel, England paused to take in the sight of the two Nordics. They seemed genuinely content with each other despite the differences in their personalities. It gave him slight hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he had that kind of chance with America as well.

**-- Sweden/Finland --**

"Hey Finland, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Tilting his head to the source of the new voice, Finland smiled warmly at the arriving American. "Why, of course, America." He patted the empty space on the bench he was currently sitting on.

Instead of walking towards the Finnish man however, America shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. "Umm…I'd prefer it if we were alone, but only if you don't mind, of course!"

Instantly on alert, Sweden snapped his head up to glare at America threateningly. "Wh' d' y'u w'nt t' t'lk t' m' w'fe?"

"Now, now, Berwald, I'm sure it'll be fine," Finland assured the taller man. He then turned to America and asked, "Will this take a long time?"

America shook his head. "Nope, just gotta ask you a few questions."

The explanation seemed to pacify Sweden, and he gave his "wife" a curt nod. Finland took this as his cue to leave and followed the American to a more remote location. Finally stopping at the shade of a large tree far enough away from anyone's earshot, America turned back to face the Nordic. "So, you're probably wondering why I dragged you all the way here."

Finland nodded. "Certainly."

"See, the thing is…I've been trying to get into a relationship with someone, and I'm not exactly sure how to do it."

"Oh, America…" Finland's expression was encouraging, soft and understanding – the look that a parent would don when comforting their child. It was the very same look _England _had given him on various occasions many years ago, a look that America missed far more than he'd ever dare to admit. "You're asking me for help? Well, I'm honored, but I don't know if I can help you very much. After all, my relationship with Sweden is a little…different than most."

"Perfectly understandable," America said. "But right now, _any_ kind of help is plenty."

"Is that so? And if you don't mind me guessing, this…someone that you speak of…It doesn't happen to be England, does it?"

America, having long surrendered to everyone's incredibly accurate guesses, merely nodded his head and sighed. "I swear, that guy is harder to woo than getting a burger from NcDonald's on 'Buy One and Get Two Free' Day. And you have _not _seen the fucking line when that happens. It's like everyone in the whole country gathers on that day to eat burgers! Not that it's a bad idea or anything, but still…"

"From what I gather, England is not particularly…interested in a relationship with you?"

"Oh, that's not it! He's just really stubborn, and there're all these personal issues that's not exactly helping to make this all easier…" The ash-blond man sighed tiredly. "But I still want to try, you know? Just 'cause England is totally worth it."

"Your feelings do seem sincere enough," Finland observed. "Very well, since you asked so nicely. But what exactly do you want to know, America?"

"For starters, how's life as a couple? I mean, is it awkward, or stressful, or difficult? I know for sure that it's not all rainbows and sunshine."

"That's true," the Finnish man chuckled. "As for Su-san and I, we have it easy enough. We love each other, and he's actually a very kind-hearted man underneath his cold exterior. In fact, probably the most difficult aspect of our relationship is raising Peter. He can be such a troublesome child sometimes."

America frowned, confused. "Peter?"

"Sealand?" Finland offered, hoping that America would perhaps be more familiar with the nation's official name.

The vacant look on America's face said otherwise.

"Peter Kirkland?"

Now _that _brought out quite the reaction.

"Kirkland? As in like, England's last name? There's a kid out there with England's last name?"

"Well, yes. I always thought you knew about him," Finland said, looking somewhat abashed. "I mean…despite having England's last name and some of his features, Peter also has somewhat of a…resemblance to you, America."

"…What do you mean?"

"Peter has dark blond hair, almost the same shade as yours. He has blue eyes too, and his eyebrows are a mix of yours and England's," the smaller blond elaborated. "I presumed that, well…I presumed that he was your lovechild or something."

"Mine...and England's…_lovechild_?" It was getting progressively harder to form coherent words, and the crimson shade America was now turning into rivaled even that of the ripest tomatoes. "I…What…_No_! It's nothing like that!"

Finland smiled innocently. "Of course, America."

"Okay, wherever the heck you got that from, just know that it is _so _not true."

"Of course, America."

"Yeah, 'cause we don't have _anything_ between us."

"Of course, America."

"And even if we did, it's physically impossible for two guys to have a baby."

"Of course, America."

"…You're just saying that to humor me, aren't you?"

In a poor attempt to smother his chuckles, the Finnish man hid the bottom portion of his face from America's view. "Perhaps. Is it working?"

"Not really."

"Ah, pity then." Finland faked a remorseful sigh. "At least now I can cross off one more theory on how Peter's existence came to be." He then smiled warmly, closing both eyes in pleasant remembrance of all the wonderful memories he shared with his family. "I know I've said this already, but my relationship with Su-san is nothing short of special, and to have Peter in the family only makes it much more amazing. Giving your life and love to another person is truly a blessing indeed, America. And if it takes England to make you feel this way, then by all means, do everything you can to court him, because to miss out on an experience like this is just too much."

America blinked, his mind shutting off completely at the sheer magnitude of Finland's words. After letting them sink in, he finally smiled in relief and gratitude. "Thanks, Finland. I really appreciate the support."

"Oh, think nothing of it. Anything to help all the other homosexuals out there, right? We do need all the support we can get."

"Homosexual?" America questioned before shaking his head playfully. "No, no, no. I think you've got it all wrong."

"Wrong?" The Nordic frowned. "Unless you're implying that either you or England is female, which I am quite certain is not true…"

"No, I can assure you that Iggy and I are one-hundred percent male," America confirmed. "Or at least, I am, because Iggy has even worse mood swings than a hormonal teenage girl on her PMS. But otherwise, there is nothing even remotely female about both of us."

"Then I can't possibly see how-"

"Homosexual…it's a pretty broad term, isn't it? And so homosexual I most definitely am not."

"America, I'm afraid that I still don't understand what you're trying to say."

"Don't you get it, Finland? If I have to be categorized into one of those weird labels, being a homosexual sure wouldn't be it."

"You're still not making any sense."

"I'm not homosexual," America clarified, "because that implies that I love men, and I don't. So I am clearly not, as you like to put it, a homosexual."

"Oh? Then what are you?"

"What am I?" America grinned cryptically at Finland as he shrugged and stuffed both hands in his pockets.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to settle for being Iggysexual then, won't I?"

---

Guh. Bad ending is bad. Until the next chapter comes...bear with it.

…This chapter ended up being 10,000 words long. Geez, my chapters keep getting longer and longer, don't they? Sorry I had to split up the chapters pertaining to Hero Rule no. 4, but I'd imagine that a 20,000 word chapter would be bloody lengthy. Not to mention the sheer amount of time it'd take to write...*shudders*

Little chapter notes:

There is actually no such word as "anorexically" (shocker, I know; the right word is anorectic), but it just seemed like such a Denmark thing to say that I couldn't resist :P

I don't personally think that there's such thing as a 'Buy One Get Two Free' Day anywhere, really. But I think they should. We do love our free stuff, after all. *Whistles innocently*

Also, the 'Sealand is America and England's lovechild' theory isn't actually as far-fetched as it seems. No, seriously. I mean, look at this: http :// 1660 . photobucket . com / albums / uu321 / hyperparfait / Anime / hetalia / big / aph21_family . jpg (take out the spaces to access the website). Yep, definitely sensing a conspiracy here…

That said and done, I'd like to thank everyone once again for reading this and supporting me all the way. Remember, any suggestions for Hero Rules will be graciously accepted and considered.


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